


Even as a Shadow, Even as a Dream

by LuisaRay



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Family, Heartbreak, John Whump, M/M, Male Homosexuality, True Love, Virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7527316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuisaRay/pseuds/LuisaRay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Tracy finds love with another man. How will his family react? How can they have a future together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrong Brother

On Green Dell street, Canterbury, Robert Christie was doing his weekly battle with his hair. Frustrated, he dragged a hairbrush through the black tangles, heedless of the warning pain from his scalp. The pain only added to his fury and he tossed the offending hairbrush into the corner of his flat.

"Stay," he growled. "Bad hairbrush."

He scowled into the mirror in front of him. His wiry black hair was wonderful for his dense, short beard, but the nest on his head still stood up in all directions.

He wasn't one for preening until recently, mainly because in the past he had better things to focus on. Robert had been a pitiful student, one of those ones that didn't have the bank of Mum and Dad to beg for cash from, let alone a few pennies to rub together. Now he was an equally pitiful manager at his local bank, not too bad a fate for a bloke in his late twenties. Not bad, but not enough to get him out of the tiny flat he so detested. At least he didn't look that skint anymore. His boyfriend had successfully updated his wardrobe recently from the holey jeans and faded t-shirts from his Uni days. He could now begrudgingly admit that he looked... good. The colour of his shirt brought out the icy blue sharpness of his eyes. It made him look like someone interesting, someone worth listening to. He reached down to pat his stomach self-consciously. He was six feet tall, but definitely not svelte. Somewhere between average and 'chubby'. His man never seemed to care though, so neither did Robert.

He was about to begin a valiant second attempt to flatten his hair with his hands, when a knock at the door sent him leaping to his feet, his body tingling with excitement. It was fortunate he was already showered and dressed. At this time in the morning, he was usually still in bed.

Today was different. It was a Saturday. His man always returned on a Saturday. He had hoped this would finally be the day of reunion. It had been a very long six weeks. As he rushed to answer, he heard a deep voice from behind the door that he didn't know.

"Hello?" the voice asked softly, in an American accent.

Robert froze, his hope shattering like glass.

"Just a minute," he said, unable to suppress his disappointment. Yes, it was an American, but not the one he was expecting.

Robert opened the door to see a tall, broad stranger standing before him, a small tied bundle of letters in his hands. He was well muscled and dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket. Despite his polished appearance, Robert noticed his dark eyes looked bruised from exhaustion. He had reddish brown hair and he introduced himself in a rich, deep voice.

"Good morning," he said, looking somewhat awkward, "You don't know me, but my name is Virgil Tracy."

He lifted the letters in his hands. Robert recognised the stationary instantly. The translucent lilac envelopes decorated with elegant calligraphy.

"Are you Robert?" he continued, "My brother John, his Robert?"

"Wow! I... I suppose I am, yes," Robert stammered, confused but excited in equal measure, "Please. Come in."

Virgil gave a small smile as he strode over the threshold. Robert shut the door behind him as he spoke, unable to hide his shock. His first thought was how Virgil had no resemblance to John whatsoever. Both were handsome, with enviable bone structures, but they shared no features or colouring at all.

"I'm sorry, but he couldn't be here," said Virgil, "But he asked if I could visit."

"Oh, it's fine! Don't worry. You're wrong about me not knowing you," Robert said, trying to explain his reaction, "John told me a lot about you. From what he says, it sounds like you two are kindred spirits. Please, sit down. Sorry, there's only the bed."

"Thanks" said Virgil, walking over towards the bed, "He speaks a lot about you, too. It's a shame it's taken us so long to meet."

"Well, I know what it's like with John's work."

Due to lack of space, Robert's bed doubled as the sofa during the day. Virgil seemed to hold no judgement as he settled down and looked up at him curiously.

"Your accent... Are you from Ireland?" he asked.

"Scotland," Robert confirmed, "Small village in the north east. It's not an exciting place. Let me know if I'm talking too fast. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Virgil looked unsure as he placed the letters next to him and began wringing his hands.

"Sorry, but... My friend Penny always offers tea, in a little teapot," Virgil explained, "It's always cold and... flavourless."

"John told me that, too. This 'Penny' obviously doesn't know how to make tea properly. I'll make you you're first half-decent cup, then. John likes it when I make it."

Before Virgil could object, Robert walked the short distance to the small kitchen behind the bed. The man sure looked like he needed a cup of tea, along with twelve hours sleep.

"Here we go," Robert prattled on as he flicked on the kettle and grabbed a couple of mugs, "No walls, no rooms, no privacy! Just one tiny open space where you can watch TV, answer the door and make your tea at the same time. It's a nightmare."

"It's, um... Practical," nodded Virgil, his eyes traveling around the room before settling on the window to his right. Robert could hear the smile in his voice.

"I only have soya milk, I'm afraid," Robert said over his shoulder.

"Fine by me." Virgil had picked up a small framed photograph of John and Robert, taken two years ago. The pair stood in a park side by side, arms around each other. Beside them stood a large, green pole about fifty feet high. At the top of the pole there was a silver bell. Quaint cottages lined the background. Virgil brushed his thumb next to John's smiling face, before gently replacing the photo on the desk in front of him.

There was an agreeable silence as Robert let the tea brew, adding soya milk and sugar to both cups. Once he was finished he carried both mugs over to the bed.

"Where was that picture taken? It's a good one." Virgil asked as he accepted the proffered mug. His face was still kind, even though it was probably a battle to stay awake.

"Outside my grandmother's house in Stuartfield, a tiny village in Scotland," said Robert, "We're beside the millennium bell. I remember making a time capsule to place under it when I was little. I think John liked the place. He said he would like to settle there one day."

"Sounds like him." Virgil said before peering into the steaming mug, brows knit together, "This tea looks very dark."

"That's how it's meant to look. It's what we call a builder's brew," said Robert, before putting on an awful American accent "Proper British tea."

It made Virgil chuckle slightly. "You and Gordon would get along with each other," he sipped his tea politely, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the pleasant taste.

"Not bad," he muttered approvingly, looking like some life was coming back into him.

"Cheers," thanked Robert, before taking a sip from his own mug.

Maybe I picked the wrong brother, Robert thought, he's lovely. He wondered if all John's brothers were this good looking. He glanced down at the letters Virgil had brought. There were a few more than usual, as to be expected. Robert was only separated from John for up to five weeks at a time.

"So, what brings you here? John's been busy, I see?" Robert observed, "It looks like he's been writing a lot."

Virgil took a deep breath and picked up the pile of letters.

"A few of them are yours," Virgil said, offering them to Robert. "They're unopened."

Robert's confusion increased. He took the letters from Virgil and untied the string that held then together. He was right. He had written these a couple of months ago, giving them to John before he left at the end of January. They always wrote each other letters to be opened weekly during their month of separation.

"Why didn't he read them?" Robert asked, "Some of these are his... They're new... But it's not much. It's been six weeks."

Virgil stopped looking at him. He placed his mug on the desk and clasped his hands together, eyes fixed on the floor.

Robert felt an adrenaline spike, his heart rising in his throat. "Did your Father find out?" he squeaked. "Does he know about us?"

Virgil looked at him, his eyes full of misery, but he slowly shook his head.

"No... He can't be leaving me?"

"I don't know how to say this," said Virgil truthfully, his voice low with pain, "I'm here because... I felt... You deserve to know. I wanted to tell you myself. He would want that. "

"Tell me what?" Robert whispered, "Please..."

Virgil closed his golden brown eyes tightly for a moment and took a deep breath through his nose. When he opened them again, Robert saw them glisten with tears.

"John died two weeks ago."

* * *

 

It wasn't long before Virgil suggested a walk outside. Robert, his mind still reeling with shock, agreed numbly. Fresh air couldn't hurt, right?

They went on a short walk into town, stopping to sit on a wooden bench in the park. Virgil took out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and offered one to Robert. So much for fresh air. Robert couldn't remember the last time he smoked. It was probably at some distant University party, before he and John even met. He had never see John smoke - he considered it abhorrent.

That thought was heavy on Robert's mind as he took a cigarette with a nod of thanks and popped it between his lips. When he tried to light the thing, his hands shook so badly that Virgil kindly intervened. Robert was grateful and took a tentative drag from the cigarette.

"I think I knew," he choked, letting out a lungful of smoke. It tasted good and he felt the nicotine hit his brain instantly. The fogginess in his mind lifted but he felt a churn in his guts. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't vomit. "The minute I opened that door. I saw it in your eyes."

Virgil watched him from the other end of the bench, taking silent puffs from his cigarette and looking solemn. Robert scratched at his eyes, the skin on his cheekbones red and burning from crying.

"I appreciate you coming here," said Robert, fighting to reclaim some dignity, "I really do. But you don't have to stay."

He didn't mean it, of course. He hadn't known Virgil very long, but his company over the past couple of hours had been invaluable. For a man that was clearly in the depths of grief for his little brother, Virgil had been nothing but attentive and considerate in the face of Robert's sorrow. Robert already had a strong sense of why John and Virgil had been so close. They shared a compassionate soul. It made him feel selfish for being so pathetic.

Virgil's response didn't surprise him. "As condescending as it sounds, I feel like I have a duty of care. You no doubt will have a lot of questions," He took another deep drag from his cigarette before speaking, regarding him again with his gentle dark gaze, "John never told you much about us, did he? About what we do?"

Robert sighed and shook his head, feeling ill.

"I didn't even know what he did. He told me all your names. About your personalities, your hobbies, but never your careers. Whatever they are, he's so proud of you all. The little I knew about what he did was that it was dangerous, highly confidential. I don't even know where he was based, where he grew up, where his family lives..."

Saying it aloud made the ridiculousness of it plain. He knew nothing at all about his dead boyfriend. In the past, he sometimes wondered if it was all a joke. Once he thought John had a secret family, that he was only stringing him along, cheating on his wife as she slaved away for two kids. Or that he was some kind of James Bond-type figure. Like a spy.

Virgil looked guiltily at him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to defend his brother, but Robert interrupted.

"I admit, I doubted him," said Robert, "But trusting people has come back to bite me in the past."

Robert had spent many a sleepless night asking himself if he should stay with a man that can't even reveal his father's name, let alone introduce him. He lay wide awake wondering if he was making a mistake. He'd fallen for a man that could never be completely honest with him. They would never be able to settle in a crappy little cottage in Scotland, or build a life together. How could they? Robert had known long before his first relationship, even before he accepted his bisexuality, that he was the kind of man that would want to marry and start a family. Now, cruelly, he didn't need to ponder on any sort of future anymore.

He got an intense flash, a memory igniting. John, nestled against him, after their first night together. Fine, damp platinum hair, gently brushed off his forehead by long fingers. His slender leg moved to tuck in between Robert's, pushing their bodies closer. His eyes were deep and blue. Warm. His porcelain skin was bathed in orange light from the street lamps outside. Sweating. Alive. His lips curved into a sleepy smile. The room smelled of whiskey and sex. They had mutually discovered a new world that night, the future presenting a thousand new doors, all equally enticing and exciting. In that moment, Robert had thought there couldn't be anyone more beautiful on this earth.

"He can't be gone," Robert whispered, not necessarily meaning to say it aloud.

Virgil and Robert continued smoking in silence. After he ground the butt under his shoe, Robert noticed Virgil looking him up and down, as if assessing him. It was a somewhat invasive look and Robert squirmed uncomfortably.

"What?" he asked.

Virgil's gaze reminded intense as he asked, "I could give you the answers, if you wanted. I can't tell you, not here. It would be far easier to show you."

"You mean, show me John's work?"

"Not his work, our work," said Virgil, "The family business. It's taken a lot of discussion amongst ourselves, but we felt it was best. It's the only way to explain the truth of... Everything..."

Virgil faltered, suddenly looking doubtful. Robert recognised that expression.

"Your father doesn't know you're here, does he?" he stated.

Virgil couldn't find words for a moment, probably realising the trouble he would no doubt be in. He suddenly looked away, put his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath.

"No," he affirmed, "This visit is between me, you and Scott." He looked at Robert, eyes heavy with foreboding, "Father is going to kill us. Of that, I have no doubt. We are breaking his own policy right under his nose. If he had his way, he would have asked us to write you a kind but insistent break-up letter, as if John's death never happened."

This coloured Robert's view of Daddy Tracy instantly. He couldn't hide the anger in his voice.

"Because he was gay?"

"No, no!" Virgil's eyes went wide with dismay, "It's not like that. Father doesn't even know you exist yet. If he had... He probably would've forbidden it, whether you were male or female."

"John's a grown man." Robert snarled, hot tears stinging his eyes.

"We all are," sighed Virgil, "That's the price you pay for secrecy." He gave a tiny, sly smirk, "Not that it stops us. We still have needs."

Robert wasn't expecting that comment from Virgil. John wasn't the exception to the rule after all.

He was lost in thought for a long time, wondering why his life had suddenly taken such a horrific turn. You knew it when you met John, he thought bitterly, You knew it would all end in tears.

His thoughts were broken when he caught Virgil's face. He was still looking at him earnestly.

"I'm sorry, Robert" he said softly, "But I will need an answer sooner rather than later. I'll be needed at home."

"Home? Where is home?"

"Do you want to find out?"

"I've got nothing to lose." As he spoke the words, Robert was stunned by that realisation. Virgil could see it.

"That's not true," said Virgil, his eyes glistening with moisture again. "You were there for John. You have us."

Robert wondered how five brothers could be so close, when their father seemed so disconnected from their personal lives. A beeping sound came from Virgil's watch. His elegant fingers quickly pressed a switch to desist the noise.

"What's that?" said Robert.

"We have to go," said Virgil, his whole demeanour changing. His face went stoic and he stood up tall and straight. Suddenly Robert wasn't dealing with the grieving brother, he was dealing with a man with who seemed to exude military professionalism.

"So, Robert, how do you feel about flying?"


	2. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil reflects on the worst week of his life.

Virgil took a deep breath, the soothing rumble of Thunderbird Two easing him into an almost meditative state. The ocean stretched out under him as he soared home. He could hear Robert's elevated breathing from behind him. He turned his head as he sensed his nervous passenger raising a hand to adjust the blindfold over his eyes.

"Are you ok back there?" Virgil asked.

"I think so," replied Robert, feeling anything but.

"We're only eight minutes from base," said Virgil soothingly, "You're doing great for a first timer."

THREE WEEKS EARLIER

It was Friday on February 25th, when Scott and Alan had set off in the afternoon to relieve John from his month aboard Thunderbird 5. Virgil was looking forward to a late night chat with his eldest siblings before John would be heading off in the morning.

After John returned he enjoyed his first proper dinner in a month, courtesy of Grandma. Virgil offered to wash up and asked if anyone was up for sharing a bottle of red with him. He wasn't surprised to see John raise his hand at the offer, his other hand contentedly patting his full stomach. The second Virgil uncorked the bottle, the eyes on Alan's portrait flashed and bleeped, as if on cue.

Virgil and John shared a 'well, how typical' look as the wine was pushed aside.

Alan informed them all that there was a huge fire in a viral research centre. The town did not have the facilities to keep the fire under control and a section of the building had malfunctioned, going into lockdown. There were three people trapped and smoke was coming in fast. The rest of the staff in the building had been safely evacuated, but rescue services were doubtful they would reach the remaining three before the fire did.

Scott left immediately in Thunderbird One, followed by Virgil and John in Thunderbird 2. After more details were relayed by Scott, they learned that the lockdown had occurred in a laboratory where they had been working on altering a virus. There were tissues in the room from infected animals, ones they were testing on in the facility.

At that news, Virgil heard John utter a comment of disgust. Back on the island, Gordon was no doubt sharing the sentiment. Both brothers were passionate about animal rights and felt it was definitely not necessary with today's technology.

Anticipating the contact with unknown viruses, the boys had donned the ingenious biohazard suits that Brains had designed. The rescue went smoothly and by midnight Professor Lauren Brauer and her two young assistants escaped with their lives, thanks to the efforts of International Rescue. The research centre was beyond help, but that's not what they were there to save.

As John and Virgil returned to Thunderbird 2, they answered a call from their father. Brains had requested that Virgil and John discard their suits, use the disinfecting shower and head straight for the lab for blood tests as a very necessary precaution. John and Virgil shared a look. The sights they had seen in that lab had made them glad such experiments could not continue.

Virgil always thought that nothing good could come of mankind meddling with such lethal viruses. It what would be their downfall in the end, pure and simple.

At 1am, Virgil watched as the needle tip slid under his skin like a knife through butter, stifling a yawn. His veins were large and blood hissed with force as it filled the small tube in Brains's hand. Virgil glanced over to his right and saw John smile at him in his adjoining booth, the pair of them separated by thick acrylic glass. He was glad to see some colour had returned to his brother's lips. John was one of the bravest men he knew, but he always got pale and woozy when it came to needles.

"Feeling better, darling?" said Virgil sweetly.

"I've told you before," growled John in an exaggerated rage, "Fainting at the sight of blood is an evolutionary reflex, I can't help it!"

"I know, honey bun."

John responded with one finger.

Virgil had a million more responses he could throw back at him, but took pity on his little brother, so only chuckled to himself softly as Brains removed the needle.

"Just uh-uh p-press there, i-if you don't mind, Virgil," Brains said behind his facemask, as Virgil pressed on the gauze patch where the needle had been, "Uh, the-the results of the, uh, blood work, should be almost, uh, i-i-instantaneous. You'll both be uh, uh, out of here soon."

Virgil could picture Brains's beaming smile under the facemask as he walked away. Morbid as this whole scenario was, Brains loved being in situations where he could be of use. It was only about a minute before Brains came matching back, his head craned down over a piece of paper. Virgil thought it was a wonder he didn't walk straight into the clear door of his booth, but Brains was paying more attention than he thought.

He keyed the security code on Virgil's isolation booth and said, "You're a-a-all clear, Virgil."

"I'm mighty pleased to hear that, Brains!" Virgil was more than glad to leave his plastic box and nodded gratefully at Brains as he passed him. The pair ambled over to John's booth, where he stood waiting for Brains to unlock the door.

He was about to reach for the handle when Brains said softly, "No, John."

Virgil and John turned to him sharpy.

"What?" they said simultaneously.

"Uh, I-I-I'm afraid," said Brains, "Y-Your blood results, uh, present as, a-a-abnormal. We can't, uh, let you out, u-until we find out why."

Virgil felt his stomach clench. He gazed at his brother, whose dark blue eyes were filled with incomprehensible horror.

DAY ONE

Virgil had never heard his father sound like that. He wasn't sure if he was raising his voice in anger or desperation.

All the boys had been banished from the lounge as Jeff and Brains manned the radio, calling in friends old and new for help and information. Virgil knew already that the Professor they had rescued earlier (he couldn't recall her name) had insisted on visiting to see if she could help. Virgil doubted Father would permit that, unless there were no other options.

There was the unspoken hope it would not come to that.

DAY TWO

Professer Brauer informed them the virus was called... Virgil couldn't remember. It was a few digits and a letter. Until now, it had only been known to incubate in primates. It had a fatality rate of roughly 70%, usually within eight days.

John was the first human being in the world to be infected.

There was no known cure.

Not yet.

DAY THREE

All the family made a rota so John always had company, even though it had to be behind thick glass.

John's incubation period was already over and his symptoms were worsening fast. By the time it was Virgil's turn to sit with him that afternoon, John had a raging fever and couldn't eat or drink. When Virgil saw him, he was sitting on his bed, determinedly trying to sip some pink-coloured rehydration liquid that Brains insisted he try to drink. From John's pallor, Virgil knew the chances of John keeping that down were as likely as Scott giving up flying.

Virgil felt decidedly useless as he settled in the chair placed by next to isolation booth. He wanted nothing more than to be right next to that bed, to support his brother in his suffering. A hand on his shoulder.

John acknowledged him through the glass with a miserable look before taking a brave gulp of the drink. His throat worked hard as he fought against his rebelling stomach. Not thirty seconds later he gave a gutteral croak, leaned over and vomited into the commode next to his bed. The painful spasms only brought up a pitiful string of yellow bile and pink juice.

When it was finally over, John wiped his mouth with a tissue, gasping to catch his breath. When the nausea passed he treated his older brother to a genuine crooked smile, a little pink returning to his cheeks. Virgil marvelled how that was never too much effort for him.

"You look awful," Virgil smiled back.

"Yeah, buster? Come in here and say it to my face," John retorted tiredly, "Let's see how the plague looks on you."

He pushed the drink aside with disgust. He was already hooked up to an IV line that was giving him fluids and antibiotics to counter secondary infections, but it wasn't doing much good.

"Gordon was making me laugh, so much it started hurting," John said softly, leaning back on the pillows and wincing, hand clutching his belly, "But I couldn't stay awake for him, not for long. I feel bad about that."

He squeezed his eyes shut as his guts spasmed.

"I think he'll understand," said Virgil grimly, "A lot of pain?"

"I'm coping," John opened one eye before whispering "Anyone listening in?"

Virgil knew that translated to 'is this conversation strictly between us?'

"No, I checked. Everyone's either in the lab or trying to get some sleep."

"Good," said John, leaning forward, "Because I need you to tell Robert what's happened to me. He'll soon be wondering where I am."

"Of course," said Virgil, "What are his details?"

"Everything's in my journal in my desk. On the back page, there should be his phone number and address. Make sure you find a way to tell him. You know my door code."

"Don't worry, I will."

Relieved, John leaned back against the pillows again, eyes sliding shut. He fought them open apologetically.

"Don't. You need sleep," said Virgil gently, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank you..."

Virgil took out a book to read and John opened an eye again, looking at the cover.

"'Cloud Atlas?'" he asked, looking surprised.

"Oh, yeah," said Virgil, "I haven't read it for years. I'm on a Frobisher chapter."

"Read it aloud?" asked John, "That voice of yours was made for narration."

Virgil was more than happy to comply and he could see John visibly relaxing as he softly read through the chapter.

"'...I believe there is another world waiting for us, Sixsmith. A better world, and I'll be waiting for you there. I believe we do not stay dead long. Find me beneath the Corsican stars, where we first kissed. Yours eternally, R.F.'" Chapter finished, Virgil closed the book and watched John, who was finally sleeping deeply. His breathing was rapid from the fever.

After a while, John stirred and muttered, his voice hoarse, "That's where my Robert is, Virg. Under the Corsican stars."

He opened his eyes and the brothers gazes locked, fire burning there.

"I wish you boys would stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to let this beat me, Virgil."

"I believe you."

DAY FOUR

Virgil was awoken in his room by Scott that night, the pair of them needing a bit of private venting. Scott informed him that Brains was struggling to keep John's fever down and he was getting restless. Father forced Brains to get some rest as he was running himself into the ground, no doubt out of guilt. Tin-Tin was more than happy to take over nursing duty for John.

"It doesn't matter if the suit failed," said Scott, "Or if someone made a mistake. There has to be something we can do. We can go to the Professor, get that team of hers to work around the clock..."

Virgil sighed inwardly. They'd been over this a hundred times. Four desperate brothers had proposed a thousand different ideas and opinions. There had to be something they could do.

There was rarely a situation where International Rescue was helpless. Of all the ridiculously impossible rescues they'd done and they had never failed... You just need the right pod, the right equipment, the right team... This was the one time when a Thunderbird couldn't swoop in and save the day, no matter how skilled the pilot was.

Scott was angry, angrier than Virgil had ever seen him. Gordon was tired but focused as he worked by Brains's side, but Virgil knew he was struggling to keep food down. Having been in a situation where he was trapped in hospital for months, Gordon had proved to be a source of strength for John. Virgil hadn't seen Alan in hours. They had retrieved Alan not long after John's blood test results and he had been withdrawn ever since.

When Virgil checked in with Brains, the poor man looked like he was at breaking point.

"I-I-I've never seen anything like this, uh, Virgil," he said, looking at the data on the virus Professor Brauer had sent him, "A-a-and it's behaviour is so different to, uh, what happened with the, uh, test subjects. I-if the symptoms continue this fast, John... He could..."

Brains couldn't finish the thought. Before Virgil could talk, he abruptly left the room, probably to find Jeff.

Virgil headed to the isolation unit, where John was curled up in his bed groaning, face sheened with sweat.

"Tin-Tin!" Virgil almost yelled, "He needs morphine, now!"

DAY FIVE

Jeff and Virgil stood side by side next to John's booth, trying to calm him down.

"I heard him," John insisted, sitting upright in his bed, face grey, "He's just around the corner. Call him."

"We will, John," said Jeff, soothingly, "You don't need to worry."

He looked sideways at Virgil.

"He's not making sense anymore," Jeff admitted quietly, "I'll go get Brains to do another scan."

Before he could leave, John made a choking noise before crashing to the floor, his head hitting the floor with an almighty bang. His back arched in a spasm.

Convulsions, thought Virgil, horrified, as he punched the red alarm button next to the booth.

DAY SIX

John did not regain consciousness after the convulsions started. By the evening, he had slipped into a coma.

Much to his father's dismay, Scott's proposed that he and Virgil to go into the booth to sit beside John.

"I will not risk any more of you to this disease, Scott!"

"There's no way in hell I'm letting John go through this alone, Father. You know you can't stop us."

He was right, of course. After rigourous testing of the biohazard suits, Jeff eventually had no choice but to concede.

By 11pm it was Virgil's turn to put on the suit and sit by his brother. He squeezed John's limp hand, wishing so badly that he didn't have to wear gloves.

If only I had thought to... I don't know... Hug him, before he went into the booth, he thought sadly. He had an gut-wrenching feeling he wouldn't get the chance again.

A little while later he heard Alan had approached the booth, still in his pyjamas.

"Can't sleep, kiddo?" Virgil turned to look at him, a somewhat difficult task in the suit.

"What do you think?" Alan snapped, "Any change?"

"None."

Alan leaned into the loathsome reclining chair outside the booth. He turned his whole body so it was facing John.

"I told him I loved him, the other day," Alan sighed, "He told me off for talking like that, like he didn't want to admit the possibility... But I would want to hear that, you know? That I was loved."

"I do know," said Virgil, "Don't take it personally. Stubbornness is in our blood. John doesn't give up."

They watched their brother in silence for a time as he lay on the bed, ghost white and still, his platinum hair a mess on the pillow. Virgil tried to brush it smooth with a hand. John didn't even twitch.

"I wish it were me in that bed," said Alan, not melodramatically, but venomously.

"I know what you mean," agreed Virgil.

"Brains said..." yawned Alan, "That there are two paths from here. Do you think he could still recover? Is there still a chance?"

"Maybe, boy," nodded Virgil. He felt awful lying to Alan, but he didn't want to be the one to rob him of hope. Hope can be extremely powerful.

An hour later, both his blond brothers were sleeping away. Alan in the chair, John in the bed.

His father came to relieve him at 1am. He didn't wake Alan.

Virgil was wound so tightly after the visit that he felt like a coiled spring as sleep finally dragged him under. What felt like an instant later, a hand grabbed his upper arm and started shaking him violently. Virgil bolted upright with a yelp, grabbing the hand that woke him in a vice grip.

The man that woke him had wide eyes, a wet face and he was taking huge, ragged breaths. It took Virgil's sleeping brain a few more seconds to realise that this broken looking man was Scott.

Scott continued panting as Virgil relaxed his grip. His big brother must have run full pelt to come and wake him up.

The realisation hit Virgil like a bucket of ice water and he took a shuddering gasp, feeling a wave of despair overcome him. Words were beyond them both as the brothers collided together, wrapping their arms around each other fiercely. Virgil felt Scott's hot tears soak his shoulder.

"He's gone, Virg," Scott started sobbing, the angry words muffled against Virgil. "He's gone..."

In the privacy of each other's company and the intimacy of their bond, the two men allowed themselves to finally shed their tears.

John Tracy stopped breathing on March 2nd at 2.15am. He was pronounced dead two minutes later. His father was holding his hand.


	3. Secrets

**THREE YEARS EARLIER**

His phone bleeped for the fifth time that night. Hannah had text. Again. She'd known him for three years and still insisted on 'dragging him out', knowing his final deadline was a few weeks away and the last thing he wanted to do was go out!

"Guess I'm going out, then," snarled Robert, not even bothering to change his clothes. He left the flat in a tip, heading off to Hannah's end of the student village with a bounce in his step. He had a lot of excess energy asthe end of term approached, knowing the finish line was in sight.

He loved University. He loved the independence and he especially loved his friends. What he didn't like was the financial insecurity, hence the lack of interest in wasting his money at the student bars.

When he met up with Hannah and her fellow architecture buddies, they were already half pissed. He followed them to K-Bar for an hour of mingling, before half of the group headed off to a house party just off campus. The house was packed, despite the large back garden. Robert accepted a can of Diet Coke and topped it off with Jack Daniels, before approaching Hannah. Beside her stood a man deep in conversation with her. His eyes slid up to meet his.

"Woah, you're tall!" he said in a brash American accent.

Robert almost laughed, as the man had a voice that clashed with his striking looks. The man had a long, slender frame. His colouring was a naturally gorgeous palette of ivory skin and pale blond hair. It brought to Robert's mind A Game of Thrones - this guy would be a Targaryen. Blood of the dragons. Maybe that was the drink talking.

"I get that a lot. I'm Robert."

"John."

The pair of them talked until midnight. At first, Robert was a bit intimidated, knowing this well-dressed, silver tongued man was way out of his league. Yet as the hours ticked by, the conversation flowed easily between them. Eventually they left the house party together to find their own corner in a local pub. Robert learned that John was visiting an old school mate and soon would have to be flying off for work. Robert himself was leaving after his graduation in a couple of months. John listened as Robert spoke about his studies of photography and his current painting project. Robert listened with fascination as John spoke about training as an astronaut and his passion for astronomy.

There were more than a few moments of stumbling around each other's accents, leaving them both chortling as the drinks flowed. John was delighted they shared a love of whiskey and was happy to buy all the rounds, trying to teach Robert the difference between a smokey Islay and a floral Highland. It was a lot of fun and the liquid courage helped Robert to take the plunge. He eventually invited him back to his flat on campus.

John, who was slightly drunk but a bit more of an expert at containing it, raised a shrewd eyebrow at him.

"Robert Christie, have you ever had a guy come back to your flat before?"

Robert flushed furiously, the alcohol in his bloodstream not helping with that.

"I've never felt inclined until now," he admitted, "Is it really obvious?"

John's face softened into a gentle smile and he reached a hand across the table. Robert met it with his own halfway and their fingers interlocked. They must have looked equally hungry, for they simultaneously downed their whiskey and left the pub together in a hurry.

By the time they reached Robert's front door, he was full of butterflies. As he fumbled to get his key in the lock, John made the first contact, standing flush behind him to breathe into his neck, "Come on, Rob, come on..."

The door finally opened and Robert realised he had no idea where to start. At first he was mortified when he remembered the state of his flat but John had other things on his mind. He fluidly relieved Robert of his jacket, belt and shirt, looking up into his face as he did so. He brushed a hand down the front of his jeans, before pressing his own body flush against him. His pupils were wide with arousal, further darkening his eyes and Robert felt the hardness of him against his thigh.

"You want this?" John whispered.

Robert slid an answering hand down the nape of John's neck and leaned down for a kiss. It was the first time he had ever kissed a man and he marvelled at the taste of whiskey on him, the scratch of stubble against his chin. John stroked his lips with his tongue, sliding his hands down his chest, before unbuttoning his jeans for him. As John's hand drifted low, Robert got so enthusiastic that their teeth clacked together. John just laughed breathlessly as he pulled them both towards the bed.

* * *

 

PRESENT DAY

Virgil's hands danced over Thunderbird Two's buttons and levers with nonchalant precision as he brought her down for a perfect landing. Robert couldn't tell and his stomach still jolted as they landed. He let out a relieved breath as he felt the craft roll to a stop and power down. He reached up a hand for his blindfold expectantly but jumped when another warm hand stopped his.

"Sorry," said Virgil, "But we'd best wait until you're inside."

"Ok..." said Robert, dropping his hands, his anxiety kicking up a notch. The flight had been long, long enough for Virgil to give him a brief account of John's illness. The 'what' that killed his man had been a virus. Virgil refused to disclose the 'how' and 'why'. Robert's mind had been tangling itself in knots for the rest of the journey and it left him feeling exhausted.

"Are you ready to get up? Here." Virgil helped him up and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. He guided him a few steps to the exit before Robert stopped, panic rising.

"I don't think I can do this," he blurted suddenly, "It doesn't feel right. I mean, your father..."

"Don't worry about Dad," said Virgil sincerely, "He won't be returning until this evening. Scott told him you would be coming."

"So... he knows?"

"I'm starting to think Dad knows more about us than he lets on," said Virgil, "You have nothing to fear. I warn you we are all... struggling, at the moment. But if there's one thing us Tracy's can do, it's band together."

So can I. Man up, Christie. Be like John.

As they exited whatever vehicle they had been flying, Robert was stunned by the heat in the air. He had never been anywhere tropical in his life and knew that most of the clothes he had packed would be of no use here. They went on what felt like a short elevator ride before he was guided through a couple more doors. Virgil's steps slowed.

"This is the lounge. Hey, Scott," said Virgil warmly as they stepped through a final door.

"Oh, you had to blindfold the poor guy," Scott chastised. Robert heard his footsteps approach.

"Well, I couldn't break every rule now, could I?" said Virgil.

Robert felt deft hands remove the blindfold and he gave a little 'uh' of surprise, trying to open his eyes against the searing light. It took a few moments of blinking and wiping of tears before the faces in front of him came into focus. Scott Tracy was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, standing alongside Virgil like a soldier. He shook Robert's hand.

"It's great to finally meet you, Robert," he said, "I just wish it were under better circumstances."

"Likewise."

Scott raised his eyebrows at Robert's accent.

"You're Scottish?"

"Aye, a Scot, Scott," grinned Virgil.

"Fantastic. Now how the heck did you and John communicate? Wait. Don't answer that," said Scott, grinning and shaking his head as he turned to lean against a desk.

"I'm surprised John never told you about that."

"He only talked about you when we bullied it out of him," said Scott.

"You mean you bullied it out of him."

"Quiet, Virgil."

As Robert's vision finally cleared completely, he drank in the room surrounding him, jaw dropping. It looked like a holiday resort, the open lounge showing the ocean stretching around them. Drawn to the balcony, Robert strode over to look at the pool below. Someone was doing laps in there with incredible speed. He couldn't believe the beauty of the place. It was his idea of paradise.

"Welcome to Tracy Island," said Virgil, coming to stand beside him.

"Tracy Island?" said Robert, "Are you serious? I guessed you guys were wealthy but... your own island?"

"You think that's the shocking part? Our father is Jefferson Tracy," explained Scott, "The astronaut and multi-billionaire."

"And you all live here?" Robert sank into a chair, "Why didn't he tell me? Why would..."

He stopped short, looking past Scott at the back wall of the lounge. On the wall, exquisitely painted, was John's portrait. It was lined up alongside the faces of his brothers, who were all equally captivating in their own right.

When you become as familiar with someone as John had been to Robert, everything about them becomes home. The sound of their laugh. Their gait as they walk away. Every freckle across a pale cheekbone. A stray lock of hair. A suggestive hip wiggle. A caressing hand with all five long fingers, how they arch and curl. The portrait had captured John's essence so perfectly it set off a reaction in Robert. He remembered part of him was still waiting for John to come back. For a tiny moment, seeing the depths in those dark blue eyes, he forgot that love of his life was gone. With a sinking feeling, he remembered the being he was so familiar with now only existed in his mind.

"Those paintings... they're beautiful," he managed.

Scott noticed his turmoil and said softly, "That's Virgil's handiwork."

Robert turned to look at Virgil with awe, who was looking sheepish. "You're a very talented man."

"Thanks. I don't like looking at it, though. But Father would never take those portraits down."

"I don't see why he should," interjected Scott, nodding towards the painting, "That's how I want to remember him."

"Or in blue," said Virgil.

Robert's brow furrowed. In blue what? He noticed Virgil and Scott exchanging looks, like they had a whole conversation without speaking a word. With a deep sigh, Scott took a few steps to stand between two yellow couches in front of the wall of portraits.

"The boys cleared out so as not to crowd us," said Scott, his voice taking on a commanding tone, "And also because we want you to know everything. I have to tell you this first. There is a button right here beside me that will change everything for you, Robert. Whether those changes are positive or negative, I cannot say. I just want you to know that I don't have to press it. We can still talk together. I just don't want the John you knew, your memories, to be marred in any fashion. I want to give you a final chance to turn back, if you wish."

Robert thought for a moment, then shook his head, "Thanks, Scott... but I honestly don't think I could go on without knowing."

"Fine," nodded Scott, as he reached down and pressed the button. There was a soft thunk, followed by a whirring sound and Robert saw the portraits start to change.

"Here goes. Say goodbye to 'operation cover up'..." muttered Scott.

Robert's eyes widened as the boys in the portrait now had blue uniforms and caps, coloured sashes draping their chests.

"... and hello to" -

"International Rescue," Robert breathed.

* * *

 

The pilots of the Thunderbirds, the heroes, the top secret organisation, Robert's thoughts whirled. He felt like he had had enough shocks to last a lifetime. All synapses in his brain fired as he pieced together a lot of unanswered questions. There had been many times John had been called away urgently. There had been just as many times when John had had injuries he couldn't explain, or a haunted look in his eyes that he couldn't hide.

It makes sense. It all makes so much sense.

Virgil led him to the kitchens where he met Grandma (as she insisted she be called) bustling about getting dinner organised. She said she loved cooking and used it as her form of therapy, an idea Robert could agree with. To add some normalcy to his current situation he offered to help her in the kitchen, like he always did with his own Granny. She gratefully accepted. Virgil was happy to head to his room for a much needed catnap.

As the food was served, Robert was able to put a name to one of the final two portraits. Gordon came in, coppery hair damp. Robert clicked he had been the one in the pool earlier and commented, "I've never seen anyone swim like that, it's amazing."

Before Gordon could respond Grandma said proudly that he had won an Olympic gold medal.

"Who needs one of those when you have your own submarine?" said Gordon, outstretching a hand for Robert to shake, "Do you swim?"

"I do, but I'm not good at it," said Robert honestly.

"Get down to that pool if you ever need to clear your head. I can teach you."

As Virgil and Scott came in, Scott announced, "Alan's still not feeling up to dinner, Grandma. I'll ask Brains if he can arrange a dose of sedatives for him when he gets back. The boy needs sleep."

"Is he very ill?" Robert asked.

Scott seemed touched by the concern as he explained, "He's prone to chest infections, especially when he's stressed. He's getting over it now."

"He's had the spirit knocked out of him," added Gordon, "He was there at... At the end."

"Oh, god," sighed Robert. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and turned to see a refreshed Virgil looking at him sympathetically.

"He'll be alright," he said, "We'll be here for him when he's ready to talk."

The dinner was quiet as Robert listened to Scott, Virgil and Gordon discuss all they'd managed to do since International Rescue had gone offline, such as repairs and upgrades.

"We can't let it go on much longer," said Scott, pushing his food around his plate, "I don't know about you two, but I need us to be operational soon. I'd welcome the distraction."

"That depends on Alan," said Virgil sadly, "Could he manage Thunderbird Five after all this?"

Robert still found the whole idea surreal. These guys pilot the Thunderbirds...

"Wait," he blurted, "Did I fly here in a Thunderbird?"

Everyone looked at him with amused smirks.

"In Thunderbird Two, the green lady herself," said Virgil proudly.

Scott also informed them all about where the father he had been with Brains, negotiating with the press on how John's death and International Rescues shutdown was being treated by the media. So far, they had received an outpouring of condolences and offers of support. The general public, of course, had no idea about specifics. All they knew was that International Rescue had lost one of their own. Their secret was maintained. Jeff was also launching an inquiry into what happened at the viral research centre and how to ensure such a thing could never happen again.

Robert was lost in thought when he was brought back to awareness by Grandma removing his plate. He gave a her a look of gratitude when she didn't comment on how he hadn't even touched his food.

"Go get some rest," she said kindly, "You look ready to drop."

"I'll take you to your room," Virgil offered, standing up.

Robert let Virgil lead him through the corridors, past identical wooden doors. Each one had a small keypad with numbers on. As he reached for the door and tapped in the code, Virgil explained he had set up an extra bed in his room for Robert.

"I hope that suits," he said, "Let me know if it doesn't. As far as I'm aware, I don't snore."

Robert smiled gratefully. The last thing he wanted right now was to be alone. Virgil's room was full of colour. The walls were lined with sketches, drawings and photographs. They walked past Virgil's double bed, around the corner to where a single bed had been set up, with Robert's suitcase placed on it. Virgil showed him the door to the ensuite.

"Help yourself to whatever you need. If anything's wrong, just wake me up. I'm a bit of a heavy sleeper so that may be a challenge."

"I'll remember," said Robert, still looking at Virgil's artwork. Amongst a collage of photographs on the wall, the ones that contained John jumped out at him. A photo of him sitting at the pool side, long legs in the water. One where he was looking through his telescope, concentrating. One where he had a grinning, red faced Gordon in a headlock. Another where Virgil had captured John with his head thrown back mid-laugh, his blond hair shining in the sun. Virgil saw him looking and came to sit beside him.

"When he passed away," said Virgil quietly, "I couldn't even stand to look at those photos, at first. I hated being reminded of how vibrant he was."

He slowly got up and headed towards a bookshelf, grabbing a small book entitled Camera Lucida. He thumbed through the pages until he found the part he was looking for and handed it to Robert.

"John actually bought me this book, years ago. Roland Barthes was better with words than I am."

Robert took the book and read.

"It is said that mourning, by its gradual labour, slowly erases pain; I could not, I cannot believe this; because for me, Time eliminates the emotion of loss (I do note weep), that is all. For the rest, everything has remained motionless. For what I have lost is not a Figure, but a being; and not a being, but a quality (a soul): not the indispensable, but the irreplaceable."

Robert closed the book softly.

"Thanks, Virgil."

His eyes once again flicked up to the photograph collage, the many faces of the man he had lost smiling at him.

"I don't think I can sleep here," he said as he burst into tears, feeling as foolish and as frightened as a lost child.


	4. A Day at a Time

THREE YEARS EARLIER

They woke up late into the next day. Robert had a stinking hangover but a very naked John sprung lithely out of the bed, stretching like a cat. Even in daylight, his skin was smooth and perfect, like marble. Robert, face half-buried into his pillow, couldn't help but grin at the view. He was still running on adrenaline, his stomach fluttering with excitement. John caught him looking and smirked back, leaning forward to kiss his brow.

"You look like you're suffering," he said, with no sympathy whatsoever.

"Just a bit," grumbled Robert, rubbing his eyes. As he moved, his body started to ache in places it had never ached before. It was a good feeling. John gave him that crooked smile that he would one day come to adore.

"I'll make you some coffee," he announced and without a care, he started rummaging through Robert's chest of drawers. He found a white T-shirt that he slipped on. It hung off him. He pulled back on his own boxers.

Very soon he slipped a hot, steaming mug into Robert's hands. He sat up and sipped, letting out a groan of pleasure. John came to sit beside him, looking amused.

"So, was I really your first?" he asked.

"No, you're my second, I've been with a girl," corrected Robert.

"I thought as much. You did good," nodded John. "Both times!"

They both of them giggled into their coffees. John had a fantastic laugh, full on and infectious. It made his eyes crinkle in the corners. Robert finished his coffee then stood up to stretch, wincing at the awakening aches. John watched appreciatively as he strode over to the tiny bathroom to relieve himself and wash him face.

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" John called after him.

"Um... A little bit. I didn't expect it to feel like that." Robert said around his toothbrush. He had decided honesty was the best way to go, even if this relationship was only just for one day.

"Oh, it gets better. Lots better! You still need a go on top, if you're up for it," said John.

Robert hadn't forgotten and his body responded accordingly. God, was he up for it. John was bringing out a side to himself he had never seen before. He poked his head around the bathroom door, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

"Ready when you are."

John looked shocked but his eyes glittered with delight. "Wow, you're a beast, aren't you? At least give me time for my coffee to go down."

John ended up staying a couple more nights, that mostly continued in the same pattern. They stopped for food. And showers (unless they were shared). And a midnight trip to the self-service launderette outside of Robert's building.

John sat on the washing machine in a pair of Robert's boxers.

"I'll be getting picked up tomorrow for work," said John, "My jobs one month on, one month off. A lot more of that secret space crap."

"I see..." said Robert as he transferred a load of washing into a dryer. Once he was done he stood up to find John had hopped off the machine to stand beside him.

"I really don't want to go," John continued, "This has been a lot of fun. I haven't been this relaxed in ages."

Robert came over to place his hands around the nape of his neck, stroking his jawline with his thumbs.

"Me neither," he smiled.

John's eyes rolled shut at the touch and he looped his arms around to the small of Robert's back.

"Are you looking for a relationship?" said John softly.

Robert swallowed. He had been waiting for this to be addressed but didn't want to be the first one to broach the subject. Once again, he went for honesty.

"Definitely. Are you?"

John smiled at the response, but he had a sad look in his eyes. He leaned in for a small kiss before continuing.

"You are a wonderful guy," said John, "But I'm not sure how I'll be at the boyfriend thing. The nature of my work can make things... Complicated. It's not that I don't want to! It's just..."

"You can just tell me if a relationship is not for you. I'll understand."

There was a flash in John's eyes. Anger?

"That's not what I'm saying! I don't know how to explain this... My work is confidential because it's important. It's changing the world. I won't be able to say how this job will effect my life from day to day, but you have to know that when the job calls, it takes priority. A lot of people wouldn't get that. Nobody wants to be second down on the list. But it's the best I can offer. I just want to make that clear."

Robert was stunned. He wasn't sure how to take this. Before he could formulate a response, John lifted his hands from his back to cradle his face. His eyes bore into his soul as he said,

"There's also nothing I want more than to be yours, Robert. If you'll have me."

* * *

 

PRESENT DAY

" _Please, help me! I can't see! I can't breathe, I can't breathe! I don't want to die! Please!"_

Robert woke up with his heart pounding, the tendrils of the nightmare that woke him left him feeling cold and shaky. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. Then he saw the wall of photos and everything flooded back.

John's dead. He worked for International Rescue. I'm in his brothers room, on the family island.

Even without the sleep muddling his brain, he still couldn't process it all fully. He felt like part of him was going a little bit mad. He glanced over to check he hadn't disturbed Virgil. He lay sound asleep, an arm thrown over his eyes. It turns out he did snore, albeit softly. A peek at his bedside clock showed Robert it was 4am. He knew that was there no chance of getting any more sleep tonight.

Unwilling to stay in the bedroom but also not wanting to bump into anyone, Robert followed the corridor of bedrooms until reaching a flight of stairs. Once he descended, a door to his left led him to the outdoor pool. Even though the sun was yet to rise, the night air was deliciously warm. The lights on the pool were still on and rippling water cast flickering blue light onto the foliage and deckchairs surrounding it.

With a jolt, Robert spotted a figure on the far end of the pool. His back was to him as he adjusted his swimming trunks and goggles. As Robert approached, recognising it was Gordon, he saw him lean over, stripes of skin glistening on his back. What looked like a dent ran up the entirety of his spine. They stood out against his tan.

Gordon heard him and greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Another member of the Can't Sleep Club?" he asked.

"It was just a bad dream," sighed Robert. He realised too late he was still staring at Gordon's back, his brain registering that what he was looking at were some very nasty scars. He blushed embarrassed as Gordon reached a hand around to rub the small of his back, where there were several large patches of taught white and pink skin.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

Gordon shook his head, his friendly expression never changing.

"They're my lucky stripes," he said brightly, "I keep them for a reason. The day I got them was supposed to be my last. It reminds me every new dawn is just a bonus." He eyed the pool. "It also reminds me to respect my body. You need to treat it like you would any machine - with regular maintenance."

With that he sprinted away and dived elegantly into the deep blue water, barely breaking the still surface. Robert smiled after him before heading for a deckchair, relaxing into it with sigh, pondering the wisdom of Gordon's words.

He must have started dozing, for he was woken up by a new voice. The dawn was breaking, casting the island in fiery pink light.

"Good morning, son. It's good to see you back in there at last."

The man was approaching the pool, dressed in dark grey pyjamas.

"We've missed you, Father," replied Gordon, treading water.

He looked to Robert like an older version of Scott. He was a very distinguished looking man, who stood tall with the military posture Robert had seen reflected in all his sons. His voice was a sophisticated baritone, no doubt where Virgil got his rich voice from. It wasn't long before he stood up and headed over.

Robert took a deep breath to steady himself as he approached the man, whom up until last night he knew nothing about.

"Robert," said Jeff warmly, outstretching a hand, "Scott told me you were coming. I'm so sorry it had to be under these circumstances. I trust the boys have made you feel welcome?"

He spoke just like Scott. Robert shook his hand, looking into his eyes. They were large (like Virgil's) and dark (like John's) but were a steely grey instead of blue.

"They've gone above and beyond, Mr Tracy," he said.

Jeff looked taken aback, his warm expression hardening, but surprised Robert by coming closer and putting his hands on his shoulders.

"Please call me Jeff," he said softly, "I trust the judgement of my boys implicitly and they've accepted you here as family, so I endeavour to do the same."

Robert tried to talk but his voice caught in his throat. The warmth in Jeff's words had caught him off guard.

"I'll let you rest," said Jeff, "We're all still raw with grief. But I promise, we'll talk alone soon, when the dust has settled."

With that, Jeff headed back into the house, leaving Robert standing stunned. That was not the introduction he had expected from Jeff Tracy.

* * *

 

The next morning everyone eventually ended up around the table, picking at their breakfasts. Robert and Gordon were there first, closely followed by Scott. Scott looked so tired he could barely lift his head. Kyrano gave him a cup of coffee the instant he sat down. After Scott mumbled his thanks, Kyrano came to take Robert's plate.

"How were the eggs, um... Robert?"

Robert smiled at him. When he first met Kyrano he was calling him Mr Christie but he had found it uncomfortable.

"They were delicious, Kyrano, thank you."

They were soon joined by Jeff and Virgil. When a young blond man appeared to sit at the table, everyone's heads swivelled around to look at him. He chuckled at their surprise.

"Yes, folks, I'm back," smiled Alan, his voice so hoarse he could barely get the words out.

Gordon clapped him on the back as everyone asked how he was feeling. Robert could see the reason for their concern. The Alan he saw across the table was very different to the one he had seen on the portrait in the lounge. His golden skin tone had turned sallow and he had lost the youthful roundness in his cheeks.

After everyone had eaten, Scott was eager to convince his father it was time to go operational once again. His brothers all sided with him, reporting that in their father's absence they had run out if things to keep themselves busy. They couldn't stand the thought of any more people losing their lives while they were non-operational.

Jeff countered that they all needed more time. He knew the effects of grief in emergency situations first hand and the last thing he wanted was to lose another son because their minds weren't on the task at hand.

Robert watched with great admiration as Alan spoke up.

"Father, you're forgetting something," he croaked, "If John could be here, dead or alive, he would be questioning our idiocy for shutting down in the first place. The reason I got up this morning is because I asked myself 'What would John do?' The answer is he would jump into Thunderbird Three and get himself up to that station, no matter how much he was hurting. No excuses. So that's what I'm going to do. Tomorrow. I'm sorry, Father, but you won't be able to stop me."

By the time he had finished, he was crying unabashedly, the tears rolling down his face. Gordon looped an arm around him and hugged him, brushing his own eyes with the palm of his hand.

"I guess you're all in?" said Jeff, his tone threatening but his eyes burning with pride, "That settles it, then. First thing tomorrow, International Rescue is back in business."

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

Alan woke in the reclining chair, fighting his way out of the grogginess. The first thing he sees through the glass wall in front of him is Virgil in the biohazard suit, sitting on John's bed and leaning over his still form. He's talking to John in a soothing tone. Upon hearing the voice, Alan realises with a lurch that it's not Virgil in the suit anymore, it's his father.

They must have swapped. I've been asleep for ages.

He sits up further in the chair at the hushed words his father is saying.

"Can you hear me, John? I'm right here, I've got you. You haven't taken a breath in a while now. I think we're reaching the end now, aren't we, son?"

"Dad?" Alan chokes out in terror.

Jeff looks at him, his composure never wavering. He lifts one of John's chalk white hands in both of his own, rubbing it and pressing it to his chest.

"Alan, look at me. He stopped breathing a little while ago, son," says Jeff calmly, almost detached, as he presses gloved fingers to John's throat, "He still has a pulse."

It takes ten more long seconds before John takes one, two, then three weak and whistling gasps. His face doesn't even flicker and his eyes don't open as his chest resumes it's slow rise and fall.

"Oh, son," sighs Jeff, his eyes squeezing shut and his head lowering. He grips John's hand tighter.

Alan stands and presses his body helplessly against the glass, terror coursing through him.

"Please, Dad," he realises too late that he is sobbing, "Can't we intubate him? Can't we get him on life support? We need to help him, Dad, please... Please, help him..."

"Alan, look at me," repeats his father.

Alan would never disobey that tone. He stares at his father in the suit, wiping tears on his sleeve like a child and trying to compose himself.

"Alan, we've done all we can for John. This is his fight now. He's not in any pain, I can promise you that. He still needs us here, to help him through. Can you do that, boy? Answer me."

Alan takes a few deep breathes and nods.

"Yes, Father. I'm staying."

"Good man."

A minute later, Jeff leans forward again, putting a gloved hand on top of John's blond head.

"John, I love you. You have no idea how proud I am of you. You've fought so bravely, you gave it everything you had. I know it's tough but if you need to sleep, you can. You've earned that. Let yourself sleep. I'm right here with you."

It isn't long before John's chest falls still again. Jeff and Alan wait, stock still, for endless minutes.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Alan feels two arms on his shoulders and he nearly screams. He turns around to see it's Scott, holding him.

"Hey, hey. Easy now, it's alright."

Alan continues to watch, Scott waiting behind him.

Three minutes.

"Father?" asks Scott, his voice barely audible.

With shaking hands, Jeff reaches for John's throat. He makes absolutely sure before he tells them.

"Nothing."

Defeated, Jeff lowers his head in grief, splaying his hand over his beautiful son's still heart, stroking the other down his paper white face. He doesn't hear the anguished cry of his youngest son from the other side of the glass.


	5. Thoughtless

The next morning brought a huge shift in mood on the island. Everyone was getting themselves geared up. Battle stations. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but Robert could sense a strange tension in the air as he sat in the got a chance to speak to Alan before he departed for Thunderbird Five. They shared a couch together after breakfast as they waited for Scott. Alan's voice was almost fully recovered but was still gravelly from the chest infection. Every now and then he gave a small cough. He told him a lot about Thunderbird Five and how it worked, including what life was like up there. Robert soon had a mental image of John standing at the window gazing out into the endless reaches of space.

"I still can't believe John was up there all that time, helping save lives," said Robert wistfully, "It must have been wonderful for him. He was barely separated from his beloved stars."

"That's a romantic way of seeing it," said Alan, "But I think not being actively involved in the rescues drove him mad sometimes. I would know. There's nothing worse than being left behind. John was always the most introverted of us but even he got lonely."

Robert saw Alan's eyes slide over towards the kitchen, where Kyrano's daughter Tin-Tin was helping Grandma clear the breakfast dishes. Robert had witnessed him sneaking glances at her all morning.

"She's beautiful," said Robert. He would have said preternaturally beautiful if it didn't sound creepy, but that was closer to an accurate description.

Alan's face broke into a grin so wide he almost looked fully healthy again.

"I can't hide anything when it comes to her," he said softly, "If I ever kiss that girl, let alone marry her, I'll consider myself the luckiest man on earth."

"Why don't you tell her that?"

"Tin-Tin is as complicated as she is pretty."

 _Just like your brother_ , thought Robert, his smile fading.

Alan lowered his head, twiddling his fingers. It didn't take a genius to tell anxiety was building in him. Alan realised what he was doing and stopped, resting his hands upon his lap.

"Going back there, back to Five..." said Alan, voice low, "It scares me. It'll be like invading a tomb. All his things are up there. His books. His notes. His smell... A strange thing to think about, I know, but he always smelled good. I was always itching to steal a spray or two if his perfume, maybe to try and impress Tin-Tin. Or maybe it was to try and be more like him. I always looked up to him."

Robert knew what he was talking about, when it came to John's smell. The same one that would linger on his pillows in the flat, or on his neck where John would always kiss him before leaving. For as long as he remembered John always wore the same fragrance. Robert was once going to buy some for him but once he tracked it down and saw the price, he nearly fell over.

"There's a picture of you up there, in Thunderbird Five," said Alan, "Did you know that?"

Robert shook his head, surprised, but he suddenly knew which picture it was. It was one John took himself. Robert had been busy painting at the campus studio and heard, "Hey, Rob," being called softly. The second he turned to look towards John, he'd snapped the picture. John loved that photo, claiming it was an 'unguarded moment'.

"It's how I found out about you," said Alan, "I knew something was different. It wasn't anything obvious, he just seemed a lot... Brighter. Then I found your photo... He'd forgotten to put it away before we changed over. It all suddenly made sense. I knew about you months before he came out to the others. I never told him, of course. I guessed it was best to wait for him to tell me first."

Alan cleared his throat, no doubt trying to stop the tears that had come unbidden to his eyes. Robert was having the same problem.

"I want to say thank you," said Alan, a slight shake in his voice, "I'm glad he got the chance to be so happy."

"And he loved you," returned Robert.

"If only love could heal us," sighed Alan, looking very young as he said, "What if I make a mistake? I can get by but I can't do the job half as well as John could. He always put me right."

"You won't. Your dad and brother clearly have faith in you, or you wouldn't be going."

At that moment, Scott and Jeff entered the lounge. They acknowledged both men with tired 'good mornings'.

"Ok, Alan. You ready?" Jeff asked, taking his seat behind the desk.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Scott gestured to Robert to stand up, smirking.

"You'd best move from there, Robert," said Jeff, "unless you feel like having a trip into space."

"Maybe not today, Jeff," smiled Robert as he stood, watching Scott take the place he'd just vacated. The look on his face must have been a picture as Jeff pressed a button and the couch lowered Scott and Alan into the floor.

"See you in a month," said Alan as he disappeared from sight.

* * *

 

When Alan was settled up in the station, it was only a few hours before he had heard of a rockslide in Japan. Nobody had been hurt but it had come perilously close to a village in the mountains. Jeff told him to keep an eye on the situation. Robert couldn't help feeling proud as Alan's video feed popped up on his portrait. He looked right at home dressed in his blue uniform, his voice strong and unwavering. He would be alright. As Robert headed towards Virgil's room, he stopped at John's bedroom door. He had known it's location since his first night on Tracy Island, but avoided the room like it was haunted. He remembered Alan's words, like invading a tomb. He looked up to see Virgil watching him sadly.

"I know the code, if you ever need it," said Virgil kindly, "It's..."

"No," said Robert, backing away from the door, "Sorry, I'm just not up to that yet."

Virgil nodded his understanding as an alarm sounded, making them both jump. Sure enough, it turned out the village in Japan wasn't that lucky after all. From what Alan could piece together, one area was completely buried. There was nobody close enough to help shift the rubble. Jeff felt fate couldn't have dealt those victims (or his boys) a crueller hand, as the chances of finding survivors would be slim.

Thunderbirds are go.

* * *

 

Jeff eventually sent everyone to bed, as by 10pm there looked to be no sign of the boys finishing up anytime soon. Robert tossed and turned for over an hour before returning to the lounge. Jeff was still manning his desk, looking as formal ever.

"Hello, Jeff." Robert definitely did not like using his first name, "Has there been any news?"

Jeff took a deep breath and spread his hands wide over his desk.

"It looks like one of the more difficult situations," Jeff said sadly, "There have been more bodies than survivors. They've been coordinating the whole thing fantastically. I'm certain they'll get everyone out, but it's going to be a very long night."

"How are they all feeling?" asked Robert, taking a seat on the couch across from the desk.

"They're exhausted, of course, but my boys could get through anything," said Jeff, pride shining in his eyes, "Is there any chance of you sleeping?"

Robert shook his head regretfully. Jeff nodded as though he understood completely.

"When I lost my Lucille, it took me over a year to find a full night of sleep again," he said gently, "Well, if that's the case, I'll get Kyrano to make us some coffee. We'll wait out this mess together."

A few hours later Robert was on his fourth coffee and the rescue still seemed no closer to ending. Still, the company was good. He wasn't that surprised to find out that Jeff knew about him via his London agent, long before John came out. Robert felt cold at the thought of being watched but at the same time, part of him understood. If he had known John was a member of International Rescue, he would have worried too.

"I'll never stop trying to protect those boys. They have been both the biggest challenge and greatest joy in my life," said Jeff.

"A bigger challenge than setting up International Rescue?"

"You'd be surprised," chuckled Jeff, pausing to gaze at John's portrait, "You know, my instinct once told me that John would be the first son to make me a Grandpa."

"Really?" said Robert, "Even after knowing..."

"I want to make it clear," said Jeff solemnly, "that I don't care who my sons want in their bed, as long as they're happy. I had my suspicions about John back when he was a teenager."

He gave a weary sigh, eyes again wandering to the portrait of his lost son.

"There was so much of his mother in him," he said softly, "He had her grace. Her kindness."

"He would have been a good father," said Robert, struggling to keep his emotions beneath the surface.

* * *

 

TWO YEARS EARLIER

The room was dark and warm as Robert lay on his bed, John resting his head upon his bare chest. As he had done hundreds of times before, Robert laced his fingers through his platinum hair, cool and soft.

"John?"

He heard a gentle sigh and felt an arm moving up his side.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever want to have kids?"

John was silent as he raised his head so his chin rested on Robert's chest. He pondered, looking past Robert to the wall.

"That's a very good question," John said slowly.

After a few more moments, he moved up to kiss Robert slowly and passionately. As he broke away, Robert looked up at him in amusement.

"That wasn't an answer!"

"I disagree," said John.

Robert pretended to aim a punch.

"Ok, the truth?" laughed John, "I hadn't even thought about it until I met you. Up until then I thought I'd just wander through life on my own."

"Oh..." Robert placed a hand against his cheek, stroking his lips with a thumb, "That's really sad..."

John turned his face to kiss Robert's palm, "I didn't think it was that bad. It's just the way things were."

Their evenings before John's departure were always like this. They didn't get much sleep, wanting to make the most of yet another beautiful weekend. They always yearned for more time, time that they seldom had.

"I came out to my brothers." John announced suddenly.

Robert's head shot up.

"Really? Wow. I wondered why you were so quiet. How did it go?"

John took a long time to answer, first rolling onto his side to spoon himself up against Robert. It was something they did first out of necessity, due to the small bed, but now it was how they always slept. Robert craned his head to look into John's face, but he had his 'shadow' face on. The one that warned him of a storm.

"I was petrified, Rob," said John quietly, "Gordon was really sweet. He came straight over to hug me. I couldn't have loved him more, I tell you. Scott... He... I guess he was shocked. He didn't say much. Then Virgil saw me later in my room, telling me he'll come round. It'll all be fine."

John was not the kind of man to cry. He looked Robert in the eye, his dark eyes burning with regret.

"I wanted to take it back. Stupid, I know. What if he never thinks of me the same again? I love him, Rob. I love the guy to pieces..."

Robert turned to face him, holding him closer.

"I don't us want to lose what we have," John mumbled sadly into his chest.

* * *

 

Scott stumbled over his feet to land flat on his face into the earth. His helmet prevented a broken nose but not the pain in his wrists as he caught himself. Swearing bitterly, he rolled himself into a sitting position, willing some energy back into his body. He was doing one final search of the lower village before they departed, in case they missed anyone. So far, as predicated, this was mostly a matter of recovering bodies.

"Come in, Scott. Any noise down there?" Gordon sounded even more exhausted. Scott had seen a limp in his walk earlier and knew his little brother had been pushing his body to the limit. Same for all of them.

"Nothing so far," Scott panted.

"Are you alright? You're breathing fast."

"Oh, I'm fine. I just tripped over. Give me a-"

He stopped short, leaping to his feet.

"Scott? Come in."

"Gordon. I heard something."

Then he heard it again, a sharp keening that sent a shiver up Scott's spine. He ran in the direction of the noise. He reached a point where a house had been shifted a good fifty feet, leaving nothing but piles of splintered wood, dust and stone. He heard the noise coming louder, urgent enough to send him scrabbling under a fallen beam, pushing rocks out of the way with his hands. The keening continued. It was close. Scott leaned to look through the gap he had made, shining the torch on his helmet into the dust. He saw something shift, flailing.

When he saw what he had heard, urgency took over logic.

_No, no, no._

The logical thing to do would have been to send for his brothers. He wouldn't be able to reach on his own. Instead, in two breaths, he had removed his helmet in order to fit his head and one arm into the gap, under the collapsed beam.

_I can reach! I can reach! Please, God, let me get there._

He choked on dust and earth as he squeezed his body further, to the point where he was almost lodged. He was ridiculously close, only a few inches short. As he dimly heard Virgil screaming for him to respond, he felt the rubble about him shift, squeezing his ribs. The last thing he remembered was hoping it would be quick, for both their sakes. Then the world went black.

* * *

 

Virgil's lungs ached from running as he made his way down to Scott's last known location. He eventually spotted a lonely figure amongst the rubble, slumped on the ground and dressed in blue, something clutched to his chest.

"Scott!" Virgil shouted, not allowing himself to feel relieved yet, "Scott? Are you ok? What happened?"

By the time he reached Scott, sitting filthy and disheveled on the ground, he was deeply anxious. Scott hadn't responded to any of his calls. When he got close enough, he could see he was definitely conscious, blinking every now and then. Even when he knelt before his brother, his eyes continued to stare into nothing. Virgil's eyes wandered over to a pile of rubble that had once been a house, where he saw the beginnings of the blood trail Scott had made. Then he spotted his abandoned helmet. The sight made him recoil with anger and horror.

"You idiot!" he breathed, "What did you do?"

The blood had come from Scott's hairline, which was still dripping down onto his uniform, leaving sticky black rivulets down his side. He held the bundle in his arms tighter. It was a baby, weeks old, it's black tuft of hair brushing Scott's chin. Virgil feared the worst for a moment but the little thing curled it's fists in protest at being moved and gave a shrill cry.

"Easy now, you'll crush him," said Virgil, quickly scooping his arms under the baby to try remove him from Scott's grasp. Scott finally looked at him then, his eyes barely focusing.

"Fsh... Fwen gen... Dun..." Scott's eyes squeezed shut as he tried to speak, "Ah kun... Shuff..."

Virgil stopped trying to pry the baby off him and took Scott's chin in his hand.

"Look at me," he said sternly, using their father's voice, "I need you to let go now, I need to make sure he's ok."

Scott shut his eyes again and nodded, relaxing his arms. Virgil knew his brother was barely holding on to consciousness as he delicately took the baby out of his arms and sat in front of Scott to inspect him.

"Gordon," said Virgil into his comm link, "I need you, now. Scott's cracked his head open."

He'd forgotten his father was listening in.

"He did what?!"

* * *

 

Virgil made his way to the rear of Thunderbird Two where Scott lay half awake on a stretcher. Gordon was (rather excitedly) heading home in Thunderbird One. He'd had a discussion with their terrified father about what happened. He omitted the fact about Scott removing his helmet to perform a rescue, spinning a story about taking a break and falling debris. Even if he didn't remember making the decision to take his helmet off, hopefully he had learned his lesson now. Both Gordon and Virgil felt the last thing the family needed was an argument. What's done is done.

Virgil didn't like to leave his green lady on autopilot, but under these circumstances his only concern was for his patient. He had another round of checking Scott over for any alarming symptoms. He had remained mostly conscious and responsive, his speech getting clearer as they traveled. Virgil shone a light onto his eyes, relieved to see his pupils responding normally. He made quick work of cleaning up his big brother's lacerated scalp. Virgil gave a low whistle when he could finally see the messy wound under all the blood. It was nasty, but still not as bad as he first thought.

"You're definitely getting your hair shaved off," sighed Virgil regretfully, running his fingers through the thick, dark locks that Scott was so proud of, "But at least it'll grow back. Your brain won't."

Scott responded with a groan, his eyes opening a sliver but not focusing.

"Ugh, Virg... Virgil..."

"I'm right here, Scott. You're in Thunderbird Two. I'm taking you home."

Scott raised an arm to try and bat him away from cleaning the cut but Virgil dodged the slow swing with ease.

"I know this stings but it's bad manners to beat up the nurse," he said soothingly.

Virgil knew the pain of concussion after crash landing Thunderbird Two a while back. The fact that Scott wasn't writhing from the headache was a testament to his resilience. Scott gave up his efforts with another low groan, his arm flopping back to his side. He was silent as Virgil finished his work, applying a loose dressing over the cut. It would be properly stitched back at base, after Brains had done all his poking and prodding.

"Where's... Where's the baby? What happened... To the baby?" Scott suddenly asked fretfully.

Virgil suppressed a sigh. It was about the fifth time he had asked him that. He knelt to look into Scott's face and tenderly rubbed his arm, trying to ease his brothers addled thoughts.

"The baby's back with her aunt. There wasn't a scratch on her. You saved her life."

"Her?"

"Yeah," smiled Virgil, "She's safe. She had a big family waiting for her. The aunt just had a baby herself, so she and her cousin will probably end up like sisters one day."

"That's good..."

He didn't add that the mother had no chance, but thankfully Scott didn't know about her, or if he did he couldn't remember. The talking seemed to assuage Scott for a moment before he swallowed and his eyes shot open.

"Virg, I'm gonna be sick."

Virgil had been expecting this and had a sick bowl ready in an instant. When Scott just lay panting for a minute, he eventually just rested the bowl against his brothers cheek. He then took Scott's hand in his and resumed talking.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

"Hmm?" Scott closed his eyes again, the nausea passing.

"When you and John went out to James Kerr's eighteenth birthday party and I had to come pick you up. Dad was so tired that day he didn't even notice me taking the car. I don't know how much you both drank, but you were out if it."

_Just like you are now, you big fool._

"I remember as I drove up to the end of the street I could see John talking on his cell phone, at the top of some porch steps. Then he fell down them, landed on his back. I ran over but he was ok. He was still talking on his phone, just staring up at the sky as if he were still upright. I don't know why I found it so funny."

Virgil chuckled to himself, lost in the memory.

"Then out you came, drunk as a skunk and fell down the steps too. You landed right on top of John, who still didn't miss a beat in his phone conversation. I eventually got you both in the car. John had his head hanging out the window all the way back, promising me he would never drink again. Then you threw up on the back seat. Do you remember?"

Scott didn't answer, he just looked at him sleepily. Virgil felt a surge of affection, tinged with anger.

"Why, Scott?" he demanded softly, "Why did you decide to nearly throw your life away like that? I'll have you know I wasn't planning on losing two brothers in less than a month."

He looked into Scott's face to see that he had started crying. Not silent tears, but tortured wracking sobs, like he had been doing the night John died. It was the second time in Virgil's life that he had seen his unshakeable big brother cry. Scott wrenched his hand from Virgil's to cover his face, as if hiding the tears would help.

"I wanted to save him, Virgil," he sobbed hopelessly, "Why couldn't I save him? I just want him here. I want him back."

"Oh, Scott..."

All Virgil could do was hold him and talk to him. Scott was the only emotional anchor in his life and seeing him like this turned his world upside down. Then he heard John speak from the recesses of his memory, as if he were right next to him. It was an old proverb he had read to him once.

" _Fall down seven times, get up eight."_

Virgil grinned, the expression feeling strange on his face. He brushed away Scott's tears and kissed his brow, before letting his eyes look up to the heavens. Not that he believed in a Heaven, but he knew the stars were up there.

_Thanks, John._


	6. Soulmate

When they finally returned, it was close to dawn. Virgil felt ready to sleep for a week as he landed. Luckily his hands were controlling Thunderbird Two of their own accord, with no conscious effort required from his tired brain. When he went to get Scott, he was shocked to find him walking about, holding on to the dark green walls for support.

"I'm getting out of here," he announced determindly.

"Forgot it," Virgil said darkly, "Get your ass back on that stretcher first."

Scott scowled at him, his face smeared with dirt, tears and blood.

"No, Virg. Back off, I'm fine."

He was far from it, but Virgil was relieved to see his bossy persona already returning. He let Scott exit Thunderbird Two under his own steam. Sure enough, their father was their to greet them, Robert in tow. Virgil realised they must have stayed up together waiting for them.

"Good morning, boys," said Jeff gently, looking at his injured son, unable to hide the dismay in his eyes, "It's good to see you up on your feet. It sounds like you had a pretty bad time."

"I'm fine, don't worry," said Scott, swaying, the dried blood down his suit making him look like something out of a horror film. Jeff came over to him and offered his son an arm to lean on, which Scott accepted silently. Jeff then looked to Virgil, his voice commanding but his face grateful.

"Virgil, get yourself cleaned up and into bed. Come on, Scott, I'll get you down to the sick room. Brains will you have you stitched up in no time."

"Thanks, Dad," mumbled Scott, shuffling away with his father beside him.

Before they seperated, Scott shot Virgil a meaningful look. It translated to something like _'thanks, but if you ever tell a living soul about the crying, I'll kill you.'_

Virgil nodded back _. You're welcome._

He approached Robert, who looked pale from lack of sleep.

"Rough night?" Virgil asked.

"You're asking me?" said Robert incredulously, "You look fit to collapse. You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"No. Trust me, we've had worse nights than that," he looked around for a face that wasn't there, feeling a twinge of alarm, "Where's Gordon?"

"He returned about an hour ago," said Robert, "But we haven't seen him. He said he was doing checks on Thunderbird One."

"I've heard that before," sighed Virgil, knowing it wasn't over yet. His training kicked in again, mission mode taking over his body's screams for rest. He started striding quickly in the direction of Thunderbird One, every step a mental battle. He turned to see Robert frowning after him.

"I'd get some sleep, my friend. We could be on call again at anytime so rest while you can."

"Not happening," said Robert, reading the expression on his face and following him, "What's wrong?"

Virgil knew better than to argue. He would probably need the support if his instincts were correct.

"We're about to find out."

* * *

 

Robert followed Virgil into Thunderbird One, mouth ajar. He had that now familiar feeling of being in an elaborate dream. His hands glided along the shining walls as he climbed into the cockpit after Virgil. They found Gordon on the floor, sitting with his back pressed against the wall, his eyes watering and face tight with pain. When he saw them approaching he gave an exasperated groan.

"Oh, Virgil... I should've known you'd check on me."

Virgil put his hands on his hips, looking equally amused and annoyed.

"'Checks', on One? Seriously? Come on, you've never done that on One," he said, his expression softening with concern.

"I meant to help Scott out, but..."

"Spasms?"

"Monster spasms."

As if on cue, Gordon was hit with another one. The breath was knocked out of him as his back muscles contracted, making his spine arch. He grimaced, hissing through clenched teeth. Virgil felt a cold wave of nausea as he got a flashback to John's deadly seizures, his body thrashing and his eyes wide with panic. Pushing the memory aside, he put a hand on his brother's arm and waited until it was over before he spoke.

"You've been in here an hour," he chastised softly, "Why didn't you get help?"

"It's been that long?" gasped Gordon as the spasm subsided, "I'm sorry, Virg, I just didn't want to face Father Hen. So, I guess I've got Nurse Ratched instead?"

"You bet. Do you how tempting it is to haul you into a fireman's carry right now?"

"Oh, you wouldn't dare, not in front of Robert."

"Try me. Come on, Robert, you get his left side. We'd best get him fixed before father grounds him."

* * *

 

They both successfully half-carried Gordon back to his room with nobody noticing. At this time most of the household was either asleep or busy in the kitchen. Once they got through Gordon's bedroom door, Virgil instructed Robert to help lay him down on his stomach. Once he was on his bed, they worked together to carefully remove the top half of his uniform, exposing his back. Virgil left for the bathroom, returning having fetched a syringe and a heat pack. As he reached Gordon's bed he accidentally whacked his shin on the bed frame, sending him hopping in outrage. By now, Gordon was shaking from exhaustion, but still had the energy to laugh at him heartily.

"One rescue and you're all now the walking wounded," chuckled Robert, trying to make light of the situation.

"This is so embarrassing," chortled Gordon into his pillow.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd be in agony with a cramped foot, let alone a back injury. I'll leave you both in peace."

"No, Robert, stay," said Gordon, "Make sure we don't hurt anything else."

Robert watched Virgil, who expertly tended to his little brother. He carefully gave him the dose of painkillers, before applying the heat pack low on Gordon's back. After five minutes, he removed the pack and began massaging the patchwork scarring with practised ease. His palms smoothed up and down to feel for muscle tension and damage. He probed along the ridge of the surgery scar with his thumbs. Then he used one hand to hold the ridge of bone where the spine meets the pelvis, gliding the other hand gently up and down the length of Gordon's back. Without a hint a shame, his little brother moaned with pleasure at his ministrations. They got louder and louder as the massage continued. Virgil rolled his eyes and Robert couldn't suppress his laughter.

"You really must get me a girlfriend that can give me back massages..." Gordon purred.

"I could, but we both know I'll always be your favourite. Even without the happy ending," grinned Virgil sleepily, shooting Robert a cheeky wink.

"You just had to go there. Save it for your boyfriends," retorted Gordon, "I get the appeal though... Such big, strong hands. Mmmm..."

"Shut your mouth and go to sleep."

"You look like a master masseur at work," observed Robert, impressed.

Virgil glanced up self-consciously, before continuing the massage with a bit more force than necessary.

"I spent a lot of time in the hospital with Gordon after his accident. I've seen physiotherapists doing this all the time. I got one of them to walk it through with me. I figured I should add it to my medical repertoire."

"More like your sexual repertoire," said Gordon under his breath, his eyes closed.

Virgil resisted the urge to slap the back of his head. "Shut up. Sleep."

Gordon did eventually fall asleep, but didn't shut his mouth. Robert laughed as he started snoring, a patch of drool forming on his pillow. Virgil gently arranged more pillows under his brother's left side to keep pressure off his spine. Even with the painkillers, Gordon gave an agonised croak in his sleep as he was repositioned.

"Poor bugger," Robert winced, his heart breaking for him.

Virgil covered Gordon with a blanket. He was about to move away, but changed his mind and bent to kiss his brother's coppery hair. Since what happened to John, he now felt life was too short to withhold affection. With that, he and Robert both headed to their room.

"He'll be fine," Virgil said, once they were in the privacy of his bedroom, "I couldn't feel any damage. He hasn't overdone it like that in a long time, but... When John got sick... Well, he didn't eat, so he couldn't exercise, then when he doesn't exercise, his back hurts..."

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose, too weary to say more. Robert put a hand in his shoulder, as Virgil had done many times to comfort him.

"Sit down," said Robert, practising the authoritative tone he had heard Jeff and Scott use, "Someone needs to take care of you, too."

Virgil was too tired to object. He let Robert help him remove his boots and uniform, before bundling him into the shower. Virgil cranked the temperature up enough to scald, watching the dirt caked to his hair muddying the water around him. When he emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam, red as a lobster, Robert was waiting for him. He stood up and turned his back as Virgil donned a pair of pyjama pants, before literally tucking him into bed.

As he settled under the cover, Virgil had a lump in his throat, tears prickling in the corners if his eyes. At first he blamed the exhaustion, then remembered the main reason was because this used to be John's job. Scott had Virgil to vent to. Virgil used to have John. No more. He didn't realise that Robert had seen his expression and could read his pain clearly.

"You're carrying all of your brothers on your shoulders, aren't you?" Robert said softly, "Even John."

Virgil looked at him from under the covers. Despite his weariness, he gave a surprised smile. He had forgotten that this was the man John fell in love with, a man that (he was discovering) shared his brother's conscientiousness and intuition. Along with many other rare traits.

Compelled to action, knowing that John would do it, Virgil gently reached out to take Robert's hand. They looked into each others eyes for a while, sharing the depths of their grief, along with a realisation of how much it had already bound them together.

"You know something? John was very lucky to have you."

"No. I was the lucky one." Robert smiled back, stroking a thumb absently up and down Virgil's hand. He looked apprehensive as he said, "Gordon talked about... Boyfriends? I'm sorry for asking... Is that why you and John were so close?"

Virgil saw no sense in hiding. He gave Robert's hand a squeeze before releasing it, feeling himself getting pulled down into sleep even as he spoke.

"There were hundreds of reasons why we were close, but... Yes. That was definitely one of the biggest ones."

* * *

 

Virgil was hard at work, leaning an inch away from the easel. The afternoon was ridiculously hot and he hated being hit by the painting bug on days like this. He was working on recreating an illustration from his favourite childhood book - Rapunzel. There were many beautiful memories associated with that story, mostly of his mother reading it to him. It was an ancient book, a classic. The illustrations were beautifully painted, nothing like the children's books you get now. Sadly, it got lost after his mothers death.

He remembered one specific page, where Rapunzel let down her hair from her high tower for the prince to climb. He was working on trying to get the right shade of gold for the hair, when he heard his bedroom door open from behind him. Only Scott and John knew his code. The soft footfalls told him who it was.

A smile spread across his face.

"You're back," said Virgil, not turning from the easel.

"Hello," said John warmly from behind him, approaching the easel, "What are you painting?"

John always remembered to ask first, something that Virgil appreciated immensely. He was always intensely private about his paintings. Even when he was a child he wouldn't let anyone look in on his doodling.

"Take a look," said Virgil, leaning back from the canvas.

John leaned forward and sighed in awe.

"Aww... I remember this," he said sadly, "It's gorgeous. Mom would've loved this."

"I can't get the hair right, though."

"Hmm... It's close. I don't know what to suggest."

"I should've looked at Alan's hair before he left," said Virgil, "I slept right through the launch, I didn't say goodbye to him."

"Oh, he was fine," said John waving a dismissive hand.

"Are you seeing your beau tomorrow?" Virgil asked.

"Sure am! You need to get yourself out there, buddy," said John, "We all need to be off making babies or... Similar. Despite what Dad thinks, we can't be running International Rescue in our eighties."

Virgil felt self awareness return for a moment and he felt terrified.

"Oh, Jesus... John."

He tried to stand but he was glued to his chair. John watched him from across the room, frozen like a statue, a wall of thick glass suddenly in front of him. His skin had turned gray and mottled. Putrefying.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked angrily.

Virgil couldn't believe he'd wasted so much time. This was his chance to put things right.

"I needed to give you a hug. I never got to touch you, in the end. I can't even remember when I last..."

"Virgil?"

"I never said goodbye."

But John was out of reach and the dream crumbled around him like the room was made of polystyrene. He reached out, scrambling, but John was too far, the glass was in the way...

Virgil woke from the dream feeling sick to his stomach.

* * *

 

In the sick room, Scott pulled himself out from the sedative-induced haze that slowed his body and made his thoughts float like smoke. He could feel a strange sensation - his head was snagging onto his pillow. He remembered, with a sinking feeling, that his full head of hair had been shaved down to stubble. Funnily enough, he was far less annoyed about that now than he would've been three weeks ago. Hair grows back.

He opened his eyes to see he was dressed in his own pyjamas - an old white T-shirt and grey cotton pants. His vision was a lot sharper than when he left Thunderbird Two, but the light was making his eyes burn. A rustle of paper alerted him to Brains's presence in the room, who acknowledged him from his desk with a relieved smile.

"Hello," he said softly, "You're, a-a-awake much sooner than I, uh, expected."

"Not soon enough," sighed Scott, "Was everyone OK, when we got back?"

"Yes, a-a-as far as I know," said Brains, "You fared the worst, I-I'm afraid. I'm sorry about your hair."

"Oh, it's a new look," said Scott, forcing a smile as he tentatively touched his scalp. It felt bizarre, feeling the stubbled skin move under his fingers. He could feel the pulling of the stitches and had to restrain himself from shuddering.

"Uh, I-I'm not sure, uh, when I should remove the, uh, stitches," said Brains, "But I'll take a, uh, look at it e-e-every few days."

"No problem, Brains."

With that, Scott carefully swung his legs out of bed, effectively discharging himself from the sick room. Brains knew him too well and didn't bother cautioning him about needing to be monitored, or the effects of concussions. Scott hated being waited upon, or nursed upon. They both knew he would fare better in his own bed.

Scott underestimated the vertigo that was still making him sway when he walked, but controlled himself enough to make it to the door without a stumble. He turned to Brains just before he left.

"Thank you, Brains," he said, "Please don't tell my father I've left."

"Uh, I'll tell him you, uh, just popped out," smiled Brains, giving him a small wave as he left.

When Scott made it back to his room, he felt like he had a full blown hangover. He lay himself down on his blissfully familiar bed, desperately hoping the room would stop spinning. He felt he could fall asleep again, when a memory invaded his thoughts. John.

Scott cracked open his eyes and reached to open the drawer on his bedside table. He found what he sought instantly - a small wooden box. He opened it and looked inside.

Six months ago, Scott had been beyond flattered when John came to him, telling him he had to help buy something important. He wasn't allowed to breathe a word to anyone. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

"Why me?" Scott asked, sitting on his bed and unable to hide his grin, "I'm no good with shopping. Surely Alan would be better for the job. He loves jewellery."

"No, he loves bling," said John, hands thrown wide, practically begging, "Our tastes are like chalk and cheese. I don't want a standard gold band, I want something... Unique. As unique as Rob."

Scott eventually conceded, actually feeling the excitement from his brother begin to catch on deep within him.

He was so happy for John. He deserved this. When his little brother first came out, Scott had indeed been shocked, but there was an even worse feeling that had made him silent. An uglier feeling.

Scott was no stranger to relationships, but he seldom kept them for longer than one night since International Rescue started. John was not only intelligent enough to pursue his own hobbies and write his own books... He had successfully kept a relationship for two years, with nobody finding out. He was the first brother that had carved out a whole life for himself, that had nothing to do with International Rescue.

Once Scott had gone away into his own corner and pondered what was making him so angry, he realised he was indeed deeply, bitterly envious. He knew in his heart he was a family man. He wanted all his father had. A wife and children. What could be better? He also knew he was not John. Yes, he was the field commander when at work, but he was also a coward. He would never risk bringing a family into the fold, when at every rescue there was a chance he may not come home.

He had made the decision eventually that he would indeed live a family life, but only through his brothers. Even if Alan and Tin Tin didn't get round to marrying or making babies, one of his four other brothers was bound to.

It was with this new, painful mentality that Scott let himself be dragged around jewellery stores after his brother for five arduous hours. He was about to open his mouth and suggest coming back another day, but something in a cabinet finally caught John's attention. He put a finger to a glass cabinet, his face lighting up.

"I think this is the one!"

"Let me see," Scott walked up next to him, determined to see what John was so excited about. His face fell, "That?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, uh..." Scott suddenly forgot that this was a situation that didn't require his bluntness, "No, nothings wrong with it. It's just a bit... Unusual."

"Maybe that's my thing." John swept his gaze around the shop. "Excuse me?" he said politely, trying to get the shop assistants attention, "May I take a look at this one here? The one with the emeralds?"

"Of course," a petite brunette said cheerfully, walking over to unlock the display case.

She handed John the ring for a closer inspection. He lovingly traced the Celtic pattern and tiny emeralds that dotted it's circumference.

"Is it white gold?" he asked.

"It's actually palladium," said the assistant, "Not as bright as white gold, but it will never need recoating."

"I like it," said John, nodding his head in approval, slipping the ring onto his left pinky.

"May I ask who it's for?" enquired the assistant.

"It's for my man."

The shop assistant gave a surprised giggle. "Well, you are a cute pair. It has to be said."

John brayed with laughter as Scott turned crimson.

"Oh, no!" said John, "Not him! He's my brother. I brought him along for his opinion."

"Nah, I'm just the only one that can keep a secret," winked Scott, "Are emeralds a good choice for an engagement ring?"

"Actually, it's pretty unique," said the assistant, "In my opinion, it's all well and good to go for an obvious diamond or ruby. But emeralds are special. They won't burn out with passion. They represent growth and healing. They symbolise a marriage set on overcoming obstacles together."

Scott raised his eyebrows, impressed.

"Eternal and unique," said John, giving the assistant a dazzling smile, "You just made a sale! Do you have another one, for me? I'm gonna need it if the answer's yes."

"Please follow me to the checkout. I'll take a look for you."

He turned to face Scott, twisting the ring around his pinky thoughtfully. He looked at his big brother with shining eyes, face glowing with excitement. Scott would never forget that look. He had never seen him so happy. He put a hand on John's arm, his own smile wide.

"This is it. I can't believe it, Scott. This is the one."

The journey home had gone quickly as John talked through different ideas on how he could pop the question. He readily admitted he was no good at the romance thing, so it was Scott's suggestion to have a midnight picnic under the stars. Red roses. Red wine. The works. He felt warm with delight for his little brother, just itching to share the joy with someone else.

In all honesty, Scott had almost forgotten about the ring by the time John got sick. Up until that point, he had known his brother to be calm and fearless in any situation. Then he witnessed him battling a horrendous virus, that would have had any one else panicking. He remembered one particular session when he sat on the other side of that glass wall, where his dying brother was imprisoned. He couldn't remember how long it had been, but it had been a few days since Scott last slept and the anger had him ticking away like a bomb. It took all his willpower not to beat his hands bloody on that glass box.

Before he had taken over from Gordon, Brains had taken him aside and warned him that John was showing signs of severe deterioration. There was a risk his brain was becoming effected and he may be confused. Afterwards, Scott was surprised to see John alert, sitting upright in bed, huddled in a blanket. He had his IV lines in and an oxygen tube in his nose. Brains had him doped up on as much morphine as he could safely get away with. Scott took a glance at John's vital readings, displayed on the monitor outside the isolation booth. He couldn't understand how John was still upright with readings like that.

John looked up at him and smiled. He smiled. Other than having a strange grey tinge to his pale complexion, he didn't look as bad as Brains suggested.

He must be wrong, Scott thought. He's got to be wrong.

"I didn't think you were coming," said John. His voice was weak.

"Of course I am," said Scott, "Just ask for me and I'll be here."

"I did ask, I asked Virgil," said John, his brow furrowing, "Wait. I think I asked. I don't know... what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm thinking sometimes."

John closed his eyes, his head lowering slightly. He looked like he could fall asleep sitting up.

"Maybe you should lie down," said Scott softly.

"No..." whispered John, "No, I need to talk to you. Did I ask you?"

"Ask me what?" said Scott, leaning closer to the glass to hear him.

John stayed there slouched for a few moments, his eyes closed and his head swaying. With a deep breath, he forced his head up again.

"I can't... do this... anymore," he said tiredly.

The confession almost broke Scott's heart then and there. Through this whole ordeal, John hadn't complained once. He has soldiered through his pain, determined to get out the other side of it. If he felt like giving up, then it had to be bad.

"Rob... Please don't leave me," said John, trying to focus his eyes on Scott, "You won't go, will you?"

Oh, God. He thinks I'm Robert.

"John. It's me, it's Scott."

"Oh. Scott. Scott, you... Did I ask?" said John.

"Ask what?"

"Did I ask Rob to marry me?"

* * *

 

By the time his father and Virgil arrived to sit by the booth, John had made Scott swear to find the wedding band he had bought and look after it. He wanted to wait until Robert arrived to propose to him. Scott nodded along, struggling to keep his emotions under control. There was no way he could tell John that Robert wasn't coming, that he didn't even know he was sick.

When Virgil saw him, he thought he would break down. Virgil could see it and tried to stop him, but Scott stormed past. He didn't slow until he reached John's room and found the ring, hidden in his sock drawer. Of all places. As he picked it up, he wasn't aware that back in the isolation booth John was having convulsions. He would never speak to him again.

The same ring he held now, that he had told nobody about. Scott lay on the bed staring at it, at an object that represented a whole happy future. A future that had died along with the man that bought it.

It was the baby that triggered it all. Holding that baby reminded him of the dreams John had told him, on that journey back to base.

"I'm thinking of an autumn wedding. Rob loves autumn, something about the colours and the smells. I don't mind as long as he's happy. Oh, we're gonna have kids, I think. Kids, Scott. Imagine me having kids? We'll foster them, of course. Or maybe adopt. Rob thinks there's enough of them in the world already that need parents. I did a bit of homework and I reckon he's right... I'm sure we could be good parents for someone out there..."

Scott gripped the wooden box so tightly it started to hurt, the box that contained a secret. A secret that weighed so much he couldn't breathe. The smothering wave of despair that had caught him on Thunderbird Two brought him down again. For the first time in his life, Scott Tracy cried himself to sleep.

 


	7. Farewell

**ONE MONTH LATER**

Scott's head injury took a long time to heal. After Brains removed the stitches, it left an angry pink zig zag across the top of his scalp, sending his returning hair growing out in all directions. Jeff had suggested that Scott see a specialist about the scarring, but like his little brother, he had refused. Scars were a reminder and a story. Plus Tin Tin promised she could crop his hair in such a way as to work with the scar.

During this time, they thankfully had no rescues as perilous as the one in Japan. Scott was grounded for a only a week. Jeff would've insisted on longer, but Scott went through every balance and agility test he could think of to prove he was ok. Jeff, tired of the tension between them, agreed to let Scott return to his duties.

What changed the household the most was when Robert had plucked up the courage to ask Jeff where John was buried. He wanted to say goodbye before he left.

Jeff had felt a huge pang of guilt at this timidly asked question. He felt guilt for both the living and the dead. It was because John had no final resting place. He told Robert that John had requested that his body be turned over to Lauren Brauer for medical research.

Robert understood the reasoning behind this immediately. John was the kind of person who wanted to leave the world in a better state than how he'd found it. He would never want anyone else to die the way he had and would want to help to find a cure. If that meant submitting his body for research, then he would do it.

Brains and Jeff had transported John's body to Professer Brauer's new workplace personally, the day after he passed away. It was the last thing Jeff wanted to do with his precious boy, handing him over to the scientists with their cold examination table and the scalpel. He was haunted by nightmares about it ever since. Yet that would never be enough for him to go back on the promise he had made to his dying son. Jeff had returned later to collect the urn containing John's ashes. He stored it in his own bedroom and had not even looked at it since.

It was Robert who stated that he wanted to hold some sort of funeral for John, with or without his ashes.

Jeff knew then that he had had enough of being selfish. It had hurt his family more than necessary. It was time to say farewell and send his son off properly. John had never believed in God, but Jeff was a man of prayer. He prayed that they could send him to be with Lucille.

After a few days discussion, they all agreed that John's ashes should be scattered at sea. It was Alan who argued that John belonged amongst the stars, a sentiment they all shared, but Robert changed his opinion.

"John wouldn't care where he ended up as long as you all got to be there. If you scatter his ashes out in space, then the whole family would miss it. He wouldn't allow that."

There were several nods of agreement, with Virgil remembering a discussion he had had with John about a forest that was designated for burials. The idea had appealed to John, second to cremation. Gordon also suggested they get John a salt urn, designed to dissolve at the bottom of the sea. They all agreed it was a special idea.

Scott had a particularly anguished look on his face. Nobody knew the words 'unique' and 'eternal' were rattling around in his head.

* * *

 

The day of John's funeral was the quietest the island had seen since before the Tracy's took up residence. Everyone went about their day in near silence, waiting for night to fall.

Robert and Virgil headed to his bedroom together to get ready. It occurred to Robert he had brought nothing with him that was suitable to wear to a funeral. As Virgil emerged from the shower, it was like he had read his mind.

"We're of a size, I think," said Virgil as he towel dried his chestnut hair, "I'm sure I have something that will fit you."

"Thank you." It had only just occurred to Robert that it was probably true. They were definitely of a height. Yet unlike himself, Virgil was broadened by pounds of defined muscle, not fat.

Sure enough, after Robert had showered and tried on Virgil's clothes, they were a little snug around the stomach. Thankfully with a jacket on, it was hard to tell. His throat was dry from nerves as they emerged from the bedroom.

The sun was beginning to set as everybody gathered on the boat, dressed in their funeral attire. All wore black. Thunderbird Five was left unmanned for the occasion, so all the brothers could attend. Gordon set off as the sky was beginning to turn a deep blue, the stars emerging.

Tin Tin and Kyrano were sitting down, each holding a basket on their laps. After a question from Ruth, Tin Tin opened hers to reveal it was full of about twenty individual lilac roses.

"They're called Ocean Song roses," she said softly, "I bought them because their colour reminded me of John's sash."

"It's a lovely idea, Tin Tin," said Jeff kindly, "What do you have there, Kyrano?"

Kyrano lifted the lid of his basket to reveal floating water lanterns and matches. He admitted they were seldom used in funerals but he felt John would like them. It wasn't long before the boat slowed down and stopped.

"I guess we're here," said Jeff as Gordon emerged, lovingly holding the heavy rock salt urn. Everyone looked at it with small smiles as it was very beautiful, looking like it was made of peachy gold marble. It was certainly not what Robert had expected. As Gordon approached his gathered family, he acknowledged them all with a nod before speaking.

"John wasn't religious, in any sense," said Gordon slowly, "He wasn't interested in psalms or prayers, not even when we were celebrating. I figure we can just... Take one of Tin Tin's roses and light a lantern for him. Then we'll let him... Let him go. Whatever we want to say, we can say and... hope that he hears us."

Their were murmurs of agreement from the family.

"It sounds perfect, Gordon," said Ruth.

Everyone assembled on the deck of the boat. Kyrano was the first to take a rose, then knelt at the stern of the boat. He muttered something softly in his native language, before placing the rose in the inky black water. He then took a long match to carefully light one of the lanterns, before releasing it onto the surface of the sea. It floated on the water, omitting a warm amber glow into the darkness surrounding it. Tin Tin followed her father, saying the same prayer as she placed her rose and lantern. The pair of them returned to their seats to sit side by side, heads bowed in prayer. Then Brains lit his lantern and placed the rose into the water, saying "I-I'm sorry, John. Sleep well."

Virgil was next. After lighting his lantern and releasing it onto the surface of the sea, Robert heard him mutter "I miss you", his voice thick with emotion. He tenderly touched the petals of the lilac rose before gently placing it onto the surface of the water.

He then gestured for Robert to come forward, who suddenly felt his stomach drop with dread. He reached up to the chain around his neck, where the palladium wedding ring hung cold against his chest. Then the tears came. He allowed them to flow freely down his face as he walked past Virgil to collect his rose and floating lantern.

Once the lantern was lit and floating off to join the others in their glowing amber haze, he brought the rose to his lips and kissed it. It smelled sweet.

"I'll always love you," he whispered, as he knelt and lay the rose down on it's watery bed, as shiny as black glass. "I would've said yes."

Jeff was silent as he sombrely followed the ritual. Ruth was beside him, holding onto his arm, wiping her tears with a handkerchief. Then Scott stepped forward, lighting his lantern with the same dignified poise his father had shown. He didn't speak any words, but in a gesture that surprised Robert, he too pressed the soft petals of the rose to his lips, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they shone with tears as he placed the rose in the water.

Then Gordon stepped forward, Alan close behind him. Gordon still held the urn safe in his hands. Alan was cradling John's lilac International Rescue sash, which he delicately wrapped around the urn. Once that was done, Alan placed a hand to his mouth to kiss his fingertips, then touched them to the top of the urn. He looked like he wanted to speak, but his face crumpled.

"He knows, Alan," said Jeff comfortingly, "He knows."

Alan nodded to acknowledge the words, still unable to speak. Tin Tin rose from her praying, arms outstretched. Alan stepped away from the stern to fall into her waiting embrace. She spoke soothing words to him and stroked his head as he shook with grief.

Gordon took a deep breath, looking down at the urn. With all the grace he could muster, he knelt down to offer his rose and lantern, before finally placing the urn into the water. He held onto it for a long time.

"The value of life lies not in its length, but in the use we make of it," said Gordon, "And you certainly made good use of it, John. There are people out there living, breathing and spending time with their loved ones, all because of you. Me included. I won't forget your voice, when you read to me in the hospital. You brought me back. I only wish I could have done the same for you."

His head lowered, Gordon finally relaxed his hands. There wasn't a dry eye among the family as the urn gently drifted away to join the lanterns. Everyone watched it float for a few minutes, bathed in soft candlelight, before it slowly sank down into the deep, dark water.

* * *

 

There seemed to be an invisible weight lifting off everybody's shoulders as the boat returned to Tracy Island. Jeff and the household soon turned in for the night, but the brothers had other ideas. Scott went to his room and returned, opening a fifty year old bottle of Speyside single malt whiskey. Robert recognised the brand and couldn't hold back his astonishment.

"Holy moly, Scott!" said Robert, as he was handed the bottle, "How much did this cost?"

"About as much as a small car," said Scott with a guilty smirk, "Technically it's yours. It was supposed to be... It was meant to be a wedding gift."

Virgil gathered five glasses for himself, his brothers and Robert. He sniffed the bottle appreciatively before pouring everyone a small measure of the golden liquid.

"I'm not sure about this," said Alan, putting his glass to his nose. His face became wrinkled with disgust.

"Come on," Gordon coaxed, "We can only drink the best for our John."

Once they all had their drinks, they all raised their glasses in a toast.

"To John," said Scott.

"To Robert, our brother-in-law," said Virgil, putting an arm around him as he said it.

"To my husband," said Robert.

Everyone downed their whiskey. Scott, Virgil and Robert let out an impressed sigh. Then they laughed as Gordon and Alan both coughed and gagged, before they both rushed to the kitchen to grab some water.

A few hours later, Gordon and Alan had long turned in. Virgil was playing a soothing composition on the piano. Scott was sound asleep on the couch, his feet resting on Robert's lap. Robert sat with his head tilted back, the soft music relaxing him. He didn't know Virgil could play this beautifully or that Scott could look so peaceful. Maybe it was the effect of the whiskey, but part of him felt like they were all going to be able to heal. One thing he knew for certain was that he was dreading being alone again. He was going to miss the Tracy brothers.

* * *

 

The next day, Robert visited John's room after packing his bags. He sat on John's bed, drinking in the sight of the bedroom one last time. It was even more beautiful than Virgil's room. There was a beautiful triptych of a vintage star chart adorning an entire wall. In the corner was the study area. John favoured an old fashioned typewriter when writing his books, just as his father did. The beginnings of his latest project lay neatly stacked on the desk, never to be finished.

Robert gazed upwards. John had designed his bedroom to be open to the sky and the sun shone down from the ceiling.

"I don't know what to do, John. I have no idea what to do. We had plans."

He startled when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said Robert.

When the door opened, he was surprised to see it was Jeff.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said as he approached, "Virgil tells me you're ready to leave?"

Robert nodded. Jeff nodded back before continuing.

"He's in the lounge with Scott just now. We've been talking and we have an idea. We thought you'd might like to hear it before you go."


	8. Open Door

 

The panicked voice broke through the sea of white noise. Of hundreds of radio transmissions, this one came through as clear as a bell. The voice was male. Gutteral. He was shouting urgently in a foreign accent. There was a short delay as Thunderbird Five's translator kicked in.

"I can't get to them! I think they're trapped. Please, come in! Calling International Rescue!"

Five's current occupant answered the call with a shaking hand, dressed in his distinctive blue uniform. He had started duty fifteen hours ago and knew sleep was still a long way off.

Robert Christie held the microphone close to his mouth and cleared his throat, his Scottish brogue a first to grace this particular frequency.

"This is International Rescue. I'm receiving you clearly. What's your emergency?"

* * *

 

When Robert had sat in on that first meeting with Jeff, Scott and Virgil, he almost wanted to laugh aloud at their suggestion.

"I'm incapable," said Robert flatly, "I'm nothing like you all."

"I find that hard to believe," said Jeff. They had had this conversation back and forth a few times and he was standing his ground, "I know John never got to make it official, but he was wanting to make you a Tracy. If I knew my son half as well as I thought I did, he would've expected his partner to have been International Rescue material."

"But... Look at me," said Robert, still bewildered, "I'm a mess. I'm unfit. I don't even have a driver's licence. I understand the need to keep this all in the family, but that doesn't make me a good recruit."

"I think you're forgetting how we met, just over a month ago," said Virgil, "You've had a lot to deal with. At first I thought you were in shock, that you weren't processing anything. Yet the longer you've remained, the more you've displayed... A lot of resilience."

"We wouldn't be asking this of you without feeling you would get there," said Scott, "You've got to remember, none of us got this way overnight. There'll be a lot of intense training ahead."

"Not to mention the health assessments - physically and psychologically," added Virgil, "Will you at least do those?"

Robert sat in silence for a moment, seeing the two directions in front of him. He could easily go home and forget International Rescue. It would certainly be easier to forget John, that way... Then he remembered Alan's words at the breakfast table a month ago. John and Alan both shared an inner fire and incredible courage.

What would John do? Dead or alive, he would never give up.

"We've never taken it upon ourselves to train a recruit before," said Jeff, "Obviously I will have to call in a few favours for things we can't cover here. In fact, it's something I'll need to consider in the future. I think I'll have to start relaxing the 'family only' policy one day."

This drew surprised glances from Scott and Virgil.

"One day," stressed Jeff.

"So I'm the guinea pig?" said Robert, half a smile on his face. It all still felt like a joke, "What if I fail?"

"You won't," said Scott confidently, smiling at him knowingly, "You'll quit first."

* * *

 

There was a goal to get at least a hundred hours of training under Robert's belt before he could move from training on the island, to training in the crafts. After passing the mental and physical tests, the Tracy's got him to work on basic rescue training - ropes, water, heavy lifting and (his personal favourite) confined spaces rescues. That one did have him close to quitting.

After six months, he accompanied International Rescue to witness their work first hand. It had been dizzying to begin with and not just because of the speeds he was subjected to on Thunderbirds Two. He found it hypnotising watching Virgil in flight, his hands floating and flitting over the controls like he was playing a hundred water glasses. He also was pretty sure he would never be a pilot.

Scott trained him for a six hours a week in hand to hand combat. It was essential in case they encountered hostile people. Luckily they had rarely needed to use such training, but you could never be too careful. International Rescue had at least one enemy that they were aware of. Scott described him as a 'cockroach' who was clever at disguising himself.

Robert hoped he would never have to use these skills, as he grabbed Scott's wrist and twisted his arm around his back. The thought of using this move for its true purpose, to injure, sickened him.

* * *

 

Robert front crawled through the water, seeing Gordon walking alongside him in his peripherals. He knew Gordon was looking at every flaw, every mistake, but knew he was beyond help at this point. When Gordon first got him in the pool, all he could do was a snail's paced breaststroke. He knew quickly he would probably never get a swimming technique nailed down, but his body was responding well. He was gaining muscle fast as his long limbs pulled him through the water, the lactic acid building painfully.

Even if he never used Thunderbird Four (which was highly likely) Gordon was quick to point out that swimming was an essential skill in rescues. The one skill that could truly save your own life, as well as somebody elses.

Today, there seemed no sense in refining his technique as he was almost spent. After a series of relentless drills, he hauled himself out of the water to stand by the poolside, spluttering and cursing.

"Catch your breath," said Gordon mildly.

Robert clenched his teeth, the fury spilling out in inaudible growls. Gordon stepped closer, a hand cupped around his ear.

"What was that, Rob?"

"Sadist," Rob glared down at him, water dripping off his hair, "You're a... Bloody sadist."

"No, I'm an ex-Olympian," corrected Gordon with a smile, "Hard to tell the difference, I'll admit. I can't afford to be gentle with you, friend. Dive."

Robert turned back to face the water. Before he could even begin to leap Gordon aimed a swift kick at his backside, propelling him into the pool with an outraged shout. Alan roared with laughter from the balcony above.

* * *

 

Before he knew it, Christmas came, a time for family. Robert felt warm upon realising that he had indeed found a new family, one that would certainly miss him more than the one he had back in Scotland. He had told his grandparents he had moved to a tropical island and had spoken to them a few times via video link. His parents would never find out as they hadn't spoken in years, not since he went into kinship care with his grandparents.

This Christmas, Scott and Gordon drew the short straw and had to stay sober, in case of a call. Virgil provided whiskey and was eager to share with Robert and Jeff. Alan was getting a taste for red wine, which he shared with Tin Tin, even though Alan was 300 miles apart from her. The pair of them were already flushed and deep in conversation over a video call. It stayed a very subdued event, no doubt because of the one person missing. They all drank more and talked less.

In the late evening, Scott invited everyone down to the games room but only Gordon took him up on it. Everyone else went to bed. Robert decided to go out on the balcony. The night sky was looking particularly inviting.

He leaned, propping his folded arms on the railing. He had had a few more than he thought, with all his training he hadn't had the chance to touch alcohol very often. His numb top lip and relaxed mind indicated he had room for a couple more drinks before he hit his limit.

He glanced to the side at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Virgil. His lips formed a smile. He thought the guy must be psychic.

"May I join you? I thought you might like this," Virgil was carrying two crystal tumblers, each with a generous serving of whiskey inside and one cube of ice. He held one out to Robert, "Merry Christmas."

Robert took his glass and clinked it against Virgil's, "Merry Christmas." He brought the tumbler to his lips, his nostrils filling with the smell of a smoky Islay. His favourite. It didn't matter where he was but the smell of it always transported him back to that night in a pub in Kent, when John bought him his first taste. His voice, mellowed with booze, speaking in an accent Robert was barely following. He could have listened to him talk forever.

Virgil leaned on the railing next to him. Robert could tell by the set of his face and his relaxed eyes that he was way more drunk than himself.

"It's at times like these I miss him most," said Virgil thoughtfully.

"Me, too. I never got to spend a Christmas with him." When they were together, John was always working. He pondered that sad thought in silence until Virgil gave him a gentle nudge.

"One year we got him down for the day. Best thing we ever did. He got really drunk and got dressed up. Or should I say 'dragged up'."

"Really? I would've loved to have seen that. Was he good?"

Virgil's eyes were twinkling with mirth, "He was magnificent. Everyone was merry that year. It was all Gordon's idea, he and John were having a karaoke moment on the table when he said 'This calls for a costume!' Then..."

At this point, Virgil snorts, unable to hold back his laughter. Robert watches him with fond amusement as he takes a quick sip of whiskey and composes himself.

"Tin-Tin grabs them both and they all disappear to her room. Then ten minutes later Gordon skips in wearing a bra and a tutu, pulling John with him. Tin-Tin had put a black wig on him, a sequin dress. A bit of red lipstick. He was acting like a very drunk Scottish lady. I think Gordon was the one that named her Patsy. Scott was laughing so hard that night I thought he'd burst a blood vessel or something..."

Virgil dissolves into more laughter, a wonderful sound. His face then drops abruptly and he looks into the glass, "I wonder if we'll ever be that happy again."

Robert was feeling brave. Stupid. "I'm happy here. With you."

Virgil turned to look at Robert, his face open. His eyes suddenly looked dangerous. He promptly finished his drink and walked away. Robert stood there stunned for a long time. Eventually he put a hand over his chest, as he did every day, where John's ring rested on its chain. There were tears in his eyes and not just because of the rejection.

"Enough now, John. I've had enough."

ONE YEAR EARLIER

"The hour is upon us," sighed John as went into his bag and retrieved some letters, addressed to Robert in his beautiful handwriting.

"Don't read them all at once," John warned.

"As if I'd do such a thing." Robert took the letters, swapping them with a stack of his own. Robert's writing was more of a scribble. He had never held the pencil right, ever since he was small. Rather than using his forefinger and thumb to hold the pencil, he used all his fingers. His teachers tried to correct it in childhood, but eventually gave up. Yet somehow, he had a talent for drawing. The letters he wrote for John were mostly sketches from memory. He knew this stack of letters contained different drawings this time, of how he imagined John's work to be. He spent a lot of time on a charcoal drawing, detailing Earth from a distance and John in a spacesuit. He was sure it would be appreciated.

They were going through their typical departure ritual, preparing for another month of separation. John stood up from the bed, before wrapping his arms around Robert in a tight embrace.

"I don't want to go," John groaned into his chest.

"Come on, you live for your work."

"Not true. I live for this." John tightened his arms, squeezing his body against Robert, "I want to take you back with me."

"Why don't you?" said Robert, "I've only waited two long years."

"It's nearly three now," said John brightly, as if he only just remembered it was going to be their anniversary soon. He lifted his head from Robert's chest to look up into his face. The cheeky crooked smile was on, "I may actually surprise you this time."

He ran a hand through Robert's thick black hair and over his beard, who's eyes rolled closed at the touch, "Just be patient with me. I've got a lot to organise first."

"I'm _being_ patient."

"I know. I'm sorry." John again rested his head on Robert's chest, holding him close, "I've wasted so much time."

Robert leaned down to nuzzle his face into his neck, breathing in his scent. Two years on and the smell of his skin still drove him crazy. He whispered into his ear, "This is never a waste. Not one second."

He wished he could just keep him here. It seemed to only get more difficult every time he left. John leaned back to remove the purple jumper (or sweater, as he would say) he'd borrowed from Robert. It was 0° outside and John always struggled to keep warm in Kent at this time of year.

Robert grabbed his arms to stop him, "No, keep it. You're always cold."

"I'll get you another one. How much do I owe you now? Four?" John smiled and moved his head up for a lingering kiss. Their arms squeezed around each other, clutching. When they parted, John gave a regretful sigh and shouldered his backpack. They shared another kiss as he crossed the threshold of the door.

He was about to turn away when he pulled Robert in for another kiss, mumbling "Screw it, come here."

"Bye," said Robert softly as he pressed his lips to that delicious neck again and reluctantly let him go. He walked off to the end of the corridor just before he turned on his heel and ran back again.

"What do you do to me, Rob?" he groaned before he crushed his mouth to his. When he drew away, he was shaking his head at himself, "I'm like a sappy teen here."

"You love it," smiled Robert, giving him a little shove in the right direction. He laughed as he made his way down the corridor again, looking back as he made his way down the stairs.

"See you."

"See you soon."

Robert closed the door and headed over to his window, which looked out over the path towards the car park two floors below. The ground was glittering with frost as he saw John's lithe figure exit the building, making his way towards the car park. He smiled as he watched him grip the neck of his jumper in around him, pulling the purple hood over his head. His shivering breaths were visible in the icy air. As he strode towards the final corner, he turned and raised a hand in farewell. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, his dark eyes smiling from under his pale blonde cows lick. Robert raised a hand in response, already missing him terribly. As John lowered his hand and strode around the corner, out of sight, Robert sank onto his bed. Alone again.

That was the last time he ever saw him.

* * *

 

The day after Christmas, Robert had his bags all packed for his first turn up in Five. He and Alan were going to stay up there together for a week, then he was going to be left up there solo. He had his uniform on, pulling at the crimson sash. It was loose again. He'd lost weight. He made a mental note to ask Grandma or Tin-Tin to take it in a bit for him.

Virgil knocked on his door to say goodbye, as he hoped he would. When he invited him in, Virgil didn't say anything. He strode over and planted a chaste kiss, nothing more than a peck, on the corner of Robert's mouth. He was breathing fast.

"Be safe," he said softly. With that, he left the room, leaving Robert frozen. It was going to be a long month.


	9. Starting Again

The anniversary of John's death came and went, the whole family quiet and solemn. Virgil sought Robert in his room the afternoon he returned from Five. They had a lot to discuss.

He'd been harbouring feelings for Robert for some time. Ever since they'd met, he had a sense that he needed to care for him. After all, he was family. It was one night, during a combat session, that he realised that there was a physical attraction there also. Up until then, he had refused to even acknowledge the possibility of a relationship between them.

The training had been difficult to watch, for a variety of reasons. He knew in his gut that Robert would never quit. He saw enough of himself in him to know that for a fact. He also watched him excel, beyond everyone's expectations.

Then he'd gone and kissed him. Virgil took pride in being a person that wasn't prone to impulsive acts. It's what kept him alone. Yet that Christmas night, after a few drinks, his grief and his lust combined into something he could no longer ignore. He hated himself for this. He still felt like Robert was John's. He was off limits. Ridiculous, of course, but that was how he felt.

He knocked on Robert's bedroom door, determined to finish what he'd started. When he was invited into the bedroom, he stopped short. The beard that Robert had sported for the past three years had been shaved off. It revealed a strong jawline. He looked younger. He raised a hand to stroke his bare chin.

"I thought it would look more professional," he said, almost apologetically.

"It looks good," said Virgil honestly, "You look good."

Robert grinned as he said, "I think it's about time for a change. I'm not the person I was when I first came here. I want to welcome the new person I've become. A new life."

Virgil sat himself down on the bed, watching him empathetically. He noticed, as his friend paced in front of him, that he wasn't wearing his silver chain. Instead, he held the Celtic wedding ring in his hand, twisting it around in his fingers. He stopped pacing to look closer at the ring, then back up at Virgil.

"I want to start again," he whispered.

With that, he turned his back and paced over to John's old desk. He gently opened a drawer, placed the ring inside and closed it.

He stood there at the desk for a long moment. Virgil, appreciating the enormity of what just happened, slowly stood and approached him.

Robert looked at him warmly as Virgil wrapped his arms around his waist, taking him into a comforting hug. He heard him take a deep breath and watched him lift his head to look into his face, barely an inch from his own. His ice blue eyes were questioning. He gave a glowing smile as Virgil gently brushed his cheek with his fingers. He could feel his body shift against him nervously and he began to move away.

"Sorry-" he began, but Robert cut him off by pulling him close.

"No, come here," he said.

Unable to hold back any longer, Virgil leaned forward to kiss him. The smooth, clean shaven skin against his mouth was irresistible. His arms enveloped the man he had grown to love in every sense, finally able to express it without feeling like a traitor. He let out a groan as Robert responded, feeling his hand stroke up to his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss. When they broke apart, Robert looked into Virgil's eyes, raising a hand to touch his face.

He had no idea what he was doing or what he was even thinking. A new life? Hopefully. Maybe one day they could find happiness again after all.

 


End file.
